


A Familiar Bond

by ChubbstheFish



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accurate snake facts, Demon Crowley (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Familiars, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Just about everyone who was a demon/angel is a witch, Multi, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rated Teen cuz Crowley has a potty mouth sometimes, Semi-accurate history facts, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Witch AU, Witch Archangels, Witch Aziraphale, mentions of God - Freeform, mentions of satan, playing fast and loose with all the lore, there was some serious world building put into this tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-12-28 23:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21144950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChubbstheFish/pseuds/ChubbstheFish
Summary: There is a reason witches are warned not to summon demons.The sleepy town of Tadfield was supposed to be peaceful, a town full of witches practicing their craft without worry of outside persecution. At least it was until someone let a demon loose. But local bookshop owner and garden enthusiast Aziraphale doesn't really care about all that nonsense, not when he has just acquired a new friend and companion in the shape of a Familiar.Crowley just wanted to head back home. But that's getting harder to do now that he's gone and gotten attached to a certain witch, which is bad since he does not want the pure-hearted man to be corrupted by his mere presence.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I was supposed to be working on a Merlin fic. Then I fell down this hell hole. I have the whole story plotted out so hopefully I can get through it and back to my other fic soonish.  
Unbeta'd because I have no beta.  
The characters do not belong to me. The errors do.

It was a dark night. Not stormy in the least; the sky was completely clear of any clouds, and while the stars were visible and twinkling ominously, the moon had waned out of existence and was not due to make a reappearance for another night. In other words, it was the perfect night for evil to take root.

The evil in question were two men, or men shaped beings, who had assembled a ritual just behind the sleepy town of Tadfield’s church. Of course, they had not set up the ritual that night. It was too important for them to have to worry about floundering around in the dark. They had been setting it up for the past week, avoiding the town residents by hiding out in the woods the church backed into.

The ritual, laying incomplete at the moment, consisted of a lightly dug trench in the flat ground, a circle entrapping a concentric triangle, with runes inscribed around it. Now the two men in question would have much preferred to have set up their ritual inside the boundaries of the church’s graveyard, but graveyards have a nasty tendency of attracting daytime visitors who become incredibly distressed and vengeful when they find their family plot to have been disturbed, whereas the space behind a church tends to be a place of superstition where only a few brave souls ever wander, and usually only when dared to. No, the two individuals just had to make do and hope that the close proximity to the consecrated ground would protect them.

Unfortunately for them, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

The two individuals were opposites in appearance, one pale with deep black eyes, the other dark with fiery amber eyes. But as differing as their looks were, they had met here for the same purpose.

The pale one spoke first. “Just think. This time tomorrow we will be the most powerful witches in all of England.”

The dark one smirked. “You’re thinking on too small of a scale Hastur.”

Hastur’s face broke into what could be an approximation of a smile. “Well Ligur, we would want to be able to enjoy our powers before we go worldwide.”

The smirk on Ligur’s face stretched into a grin to match Hastur. He reached for one of many vials on his belt, handing a clear liquid to his companion before grabbing a larger, crimson one for himself. “Just a precaution,” he said quietly.

Hastur’s expression turned sour. “We won’t need it,” he muttered before placing himself on the outskirts of the ritual circle. Ligur moved to stand in opposition of him.

“Are you prepared?” he asked, reviving a nod from the pale witch. Ligur held up the vial before ceremoniously unstopping it. To anyone unfamiliar with the type of ritual that these two men were performing, one might be naïve enough to think that the vial was simply filled with a red paint. Anyone cynical enough to suspect the type of ritual these two men were performing would note the faint smell of rust wafting out the open top. The most optimistic of the cynical ones could only hope that the contents of the vial came from the local butcher shop rather than any other source. But anyone with a good grasp on reality would realize that these witches weren’t the type to mind blood on their hands.

The dark hand tipped, and the viscous liquid flowed continuously, falling into the prepared divot and spreading along the existing lines with a burning sizzle. The liquid solidified and glowed leaving two faces underlit by a sinister red light. The ritual was prepared; it just needed to be activated.

The two figures faced each other over the red glow. It was time.

As one they spoke the words of a supposedly long dead language. A summons if you will, but not the polite request ‘_oh dear you simply _must_ come over for a visit_’, rather the more unpleasant experience of hearing someone saying your name repeatedly, getting louder and louder until they rip your earphones off and scream in your face.

It should have been no surprise for Hastur and Ligur that an unpleasant summon would result in an unpleasant arrival, but both were quite taken by surprise as the ground shook and a fiery column of light shot up. A scream like a thousand tormented creatures rang through the air, destroying any peace the night had to offer.

Inside the circle a shape was emerging. For a fraction of a second it could be described as human-esque before deteriorating quickly. Hastur and Ligur could only make out writhing shapes, a hint of scales, glowing yellow eyes, and feathers. Rows upon rows of raven feathers pushing up against the edge of the circle. For a moment it seemed the ritual would hold. Then cracks formed in the ring of light containing the eldritch abomination that was a true demon. 

“Bind it! We have to bind it now!” Ligur’s voice could barely be made out above the din the creature was making, but as soon as the words passed his lips the demon’s focus snapped sharply to the dark-skinned man.

“Noooooo!” screeched the being, furious before seemingly concentrating on something.

Hastur began chanting anew, lifting up his vial before throwing it in the center of the circle. The monstrosity shrieked and reeled back where the blessed liquid broke free and splashed it. The brief respite was ended moments later when demon finished gathering itself and shattered the ring of light with a blast of hellfire that incinerated Ligur before he had the chance to scream.

Hastur, on the other hand, finished his chant and promptly started screaming loudly and repeatedly, running around the ritual circle to the still crispy remains of his once companion. He ignored the sudden lack of light and the shape shrinking down and slithering off into the night in favor of tearing at his face in never-ending horror.

There is a reason witches are warned not to summon demons.

.....

The people of Tadfield, witches and nonwitches alike, slept peacefully on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any errors/typos/confusing grammar feel free to call me out on it and I'll try to fix it/clarify it.

Tadfield was not an overly large town. It had a general store, a pub, and a butcher’s shop on the main street. The main street was also home to a variety of small-town shops, some of which catered to the pitiful tourist crowd that occasionally drifted through. The rest could be easily looked over by the untrained eye, but anyone in the know would recognize the relatively witchy apothecary and potion shops for what they were. This town supported a bustling occult population.

The least assuming shop on the main jog of the town boasted a red storefront with gold lettering proclaiming A. Z. FELL AND CO. ANTIQUARIAN AND UNUSUAL BOOKS. The proprietor of the shop, Mr. Fell to the townsfolk, Aziraphale to his few friends, was standing over a sea of broken glass sparkling in the early morning light. The culprits were hovering on the other side of the empty window frames, bicycles abandoned on the ground.

“We’re real sorry Mr. Fell,” said the leader of the Them, “It was an accident.”

Aziraphale surveyed the expressions on the children’s faces. They were mostly contrite, with the young Wensleydale looking particularly repentant. “How on earth did you manage this?”

“It was my fault,” said Adam.

“That I don’t doubt.” That was a lie. Aziraphale very much did doubt that Adam was the one who broke the glass, as his friends Pepper and Brian seemed to be the ones with the guiltiest expressions. But Adam young was the leader of his little group of hoodlums, and it was always nice to see a leader take the blame with grace.

“Please if I help fix it will you not tell my father?” Adam’s expression was just ever so slightly hopeful. He picked up his Familiar, a small black and white dog which proceeded to make a pathetic whine. Combined with his witch’s pleading expression Aziraphale couldn’t help but shelve the lecture he had been mentally preparing.

“I won’t tell your father, but I expect you to be more mindful in the future, Adam Young.”

“Yes sir!” Adam said gleefully, releasing the Familiar.

“Now do you know any repair spells?” Adam shook his head. “That’s fine. I’ll lead, just let your power flow.”

Aziraphale stepped around the broken mess and out the front door. He held out his hand to the young witch who in turn clasped it with vigor. Adam’s small Familiar stood beneath them, pressing up against his master. Aziraphale whispered words of repair, of wholeness, and of smooth glass and felt the wind-like brush of magic up his arm originating from the young witch, much stronger than he expected. He stayed composed though and let the magic flow down into the broken shards. It was slow at first, the glass reluctant to give up its new shattered form before leaping up and filling in the empty panes. Releasing Adam’s hand, he broke the spell.

“There! Good as new, no harm done. Now run along you lot, I do have a business to eventually open,” Aziraphale shooed the Them off and watched as they quickly took their bicycles up and rode down the street. Sighing, Aziraphale returned to the inside of his shop and glared at the closed sign. He would flip it. Eventually.

Despite being the proud owner of a well-stocked bookstore, Aziraphale was loath to sell a single book. The front of the bookshop was filled with many precious first editions of classics as well as a shelf full of misprint Bibles. However, it was the backroom, strictly off limits to the general public that held one of his pride and joys, as well as his bread and butter in the town. The shelves of ancient grimoires and occult reference books were simply **_not for sale_**, thank you very much please stop offering money I’m not selling them, but Aziraphale made it his business to copy out spells and translations for witches willing to pay a small fee, or the occasional magical favor, so long as the request was reasonable and not likely to cause too much destruction. He had standards.

Despite his profession, his old-fashioned suit and bow tie, his portly appearance, and his reading glasses often perched on his nose, the man was only in his late thirties. Aziraphale liked to think he looked older than he was simply due to the lightness of his hair.

Aziraphale wandered back to his cozy kitchen and his book and abandoned cup of tea, vowing to start his day after just one more chapter. It was still early after all.

.....

Crowley was having a decidedly bad morning. It didn’t help that the night before had been atrocious, but in the dawn of the new day it was becoming very clear that this day might be worse.

Being summoned was never a pleasant experience. There was a reason he had tried to change his official name. It turns out that Hell doesn’t really care, and he was still bound to his original name given at the moment of his fall. When would humans learn that consorting with demons was a one-way ticket to damnation? But despite last nights’ apparently incompetent pair here he was. Bound in his serpent form. Weak from holy burns. Exhausted from slithering away from the surviving idiot mortal for most of the night. Cold from the unintentional plunge in the river. At least now he was relatively safe, curled up in an apple tree, with a river, a wall, and several kilometers between him and his surviving summoner. So long as he managed to not get discorporated by a cat or a hawk it would be alright. He wouldn’t be able to stand the shame of word getting out that he lost his body by being the local cat’s lunch. His boss might get a laugh out of it though. He had a surprising sense of humor.

No, If Crowley can just amass enough of his strength back, he can return to the ritual site, break the binding and eventually return back to Hell. He just needs some rest and time to recover.

He shifted his weight, causing the branch he was resting on to sway. Wrapping his tail firmly around the bobbing branch his head lay just above a bright red apple. He settled in sleepily to watch the breaking of a new dawn. Snakes do not have eyelids, and neither do snake-shaped demons. However, if anyone had been observing Crowley they might have noticed the piercing golden eyes slowly seem to dim as the snake fell into a comfortable sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

It was late morning before Aziraphale put down his book, his tea long gone. He stood up, smoothing down his vest before eyeing the door leading to the front of the shop. He really should open up before too long, maybe just after a spot of early lunch. And he still had a translation to finish for his dear friend Anathema. But first he should go check on the garden.

Now usually the term garden refers to an outdoor space that is meticulously planned out. The gardener chooses each seed of each plant and where it should sprout. Aziraphale’s garden does not fall under this definition of a garden. Aziraphale did not so much as plan out a garden as he cultivated a space for the wilderness to flourish behind his home. And like any good witch, Aziraphale had encouraged the local flora to welcome in the exotic and magical flora too. Flowers of every color and leaves of every shape filled the area between his house and the wall on the edge of the river, never deterred by season. Even under a blanket of snow determined crocuses would sprout up and frozen green leaves would glint under the surface of ice. Several trees provided shade including a paradoxical apple tree filled with blooms and ripe fruit in April, several chairs sporadically placed for one’s own enjoyment.

The garden was always full of life, be it buzzing insects, a sly fox, a sleepy owl, or active frogs hopping from lily pad to lily pad in the small pond. While there was no clear path through the luscious growth, anyone who approached it would find that plant life would seem to slink just out of the way where ever a foot was about to be placed. Aziraphale had put a lot of effort into creating this paradise and was continually pleased with the reward it provided him. It was his own personal Eden.

Aziraphale pulled on his coat before stepping out the back door to survey his tiny kingdom. He picked up a wicker basket sitting just on the back step. “A nice apple tart would be good this evening, yes? I could even offer some to Anathema as an apology for being late with that translation. Not that she ever seems to mind,” he said with a grin to the butterflies that where slowly drifting past his head. Without missing a beat, Aziraphale stepped into the garden and meandered his way towards the apple tree, stopping only to marvel at a particularly fragrant rose blossom.

The apple tree had been here before Aziraphale had bought the house. Looking at the old, somewhat gnarled branches Aziraphale wondered if it had been here before the house was built. However old it happened to be, the fruit it produced was still delicious, a sweet and tart combination that made it perfect for a snack or for baked goods. However, once Aziraphale got underneath the tree’s branches he saw something that was neither flower nor fruit and promptly forgot about tarts.

“Well now, what do we have here?” A massive black snake with a red belly was partially hanging off the tree, its head resting on an apple with a loop of its neck falling off the branch only to have said branch be firmly gripped by its tail. It looked like it had wounds dotted all along its body. Now Aziraphale was no expert in reptiles, but he was fairly sure that this was not a native snake species to England. This led him to believe that this could be someone’s escaped pet.

Aziraphale took in the snakes’ injuries. They looked almost like burns, with discolored scales showing pink damaged skin underneath. Combined with the glassy look in its vertical slit-pupil eyes Aziraphale thought it made a sorry sight indeed (Aziraphale was unaware that snakes have no eyelids and therefore sleep with their eyes open. He just assumed the snake was too cold to move or react to his presence).

“Oh, you poor dear! Let’s see if I can’t do something to help you.” He reached up and gently ran a curled finger over the loop of snake that was hanging down. Immediately the snake jerked awake and Crowley, for of course that is who the snake was, let out a startled hiss. He definitely wasn’t expecting his nap to be interrupted by a human of all things.

Looking down at the fluffy white-haired human who had _touched_ him and was continuing to softly speak placating words to him, Crowley felt his stomach sink. It was just his luck to end up in a place where a _human_, no, he scented the air and picked up a whiff of magic, a _witch_ would be lurking around and curious enough to confront any clearly venomous creatures he came across. Well there was nothing to do but try to scare him off.

Cracking his mouth open slightly Crowley let out a loud hiss and shifted into a better striking position. He wouldn’t actually bite the human. It wouldn’t do to have a corpse on his hand, especially a witch corpse, which, if there were any other witches around, would only take one a few minutes to figure out the man had died from demon venom and then there would be a massive snake-demon hunt and that wouldn’t do at all. No, he prepared to bluff strike, letting out a continuous warning hiss as the witch reached back up for him.

Aziraphale for his part just huffed and said, “Yes, you are a very scary snake. Now be a dear and let’s get you down from there,” and made a grab for the still hanging loop of snake. Crowley stopped hissing, and with a firmly closed mouth he lunged for the approaching hand. And missed when the witch pulled it out of his reach. And then Crowley was left hanging halfway out of the apple tree before Aziraphale deftly struck out and firmly gripped the snake behind its head.

What happened next was a struggle of two wills, one force determined to hold onto the apple tree for dear life and the other just as determined to pry it off. When it became clear that having hands gave someone an unfair advantage Crowley switched tactics and moved to wrap the rest of his body around the witch’s arm, constricting it to the best of his abilities, which is to say not all that well since he had very little constricting experience.

Aziraphale let out a gentle laugh. “There’s a good snake. Now let’s get you inside, you seem to be rather cold,” and with that he took off back through the garden, abandoning a wicker basket beneath the tree.

“It’s a good thing you still have so much fight left in you,” he ran his free hand over the smooth dark scales of the snake’s head, “It means you’ll be able to fight to recover sooner. Won’t that be nice?”

Stepping back into his kitchen, Aziraphale stopped to figure out what to do next with the motionless snake (Crowley had reluctantly resigned himself to his fate when the witch’s arm had failed to be constricted. He just hoped that head office would never catch wind of this frankly embarrassing situation). Aziraphale ended up with a plastic storage bin with an attachable lid, the original contents strewn about on his kitchen table, and with a word of growth enlarged it to fit the meter and a half long serpent.

Getting Crowley into the bin turned out to be less of a challenge than grabbing him in the first place was. He simply slipped his coat off and the snake went with the armless sleeve into the bin. Then it was just a matter of pulling the coat out from under the dark coils and firmly attaching the lid behind it. Crowley immediately was pushing back against the lid, which left Aziraphale no choice but to whisper a word of locking to keep it in place. If snakes could glare, Aziraphale would assume that was what the look he was receiving was.

“Don’t look at me like that, my dear. This really is for your own good,” Aziraphale proceeded to push just a little bit of power into his fingertips and poke a few airholes in the top of the bin, nothing big enough to let more than a dejected tongue flick through. “Stay put. I’ll be right back,” Aziraphale said over his shoulder as he disappeared through a doorway leading somewhere else.

_Like I can go anywhere else_, Crowley thought miserably before pushing up against the sides of the bin, less than hopeful that there would be any give but unwilling to admit defeat just yet. Before he was able to make up any plausible escape plans the witch came back. His arms were full of several vials, jars, and an alarmingly large pitcher.

“All right, my dear, I have some things I think should help. How does a nice, warm, bath sound?” Aziraphale poured a few drops of one of the vials into the pitcher, a pinch of dried herbs from one of the jars. “Not too hot, of course. I don’t want to accidentally put you into shock, but I’ve put some lavender and rosewater for the pain and there is also some aloe to help with the burn. Now just a touch of magic,” he leaned forward, and Crowley caught the quiet words of health and vitality being placed upon the mixture in the pitcher. “There, all ready!”

Aziraphale reached over and pulled the lid off slightly, catching the snake’s escape attempt before pouring the water into the bin and closing the lid tightly.

No real snakes enjoy baths. Crowley was no exception and squirmed around helplessly for a minute before calming down a bit. The water _was_ a pleasant temperature for his cold blood, and the soothing balm of the herbs added to the water along with the healing spell clinging to his scales was making it a tad bit easier to calm down. He ended up curled with most of his body submerged, just his head above the water resting of a coil. He watched the witch’s pleased expression, waiting to see what would happen next.

Aziraphale was feeling rather good about himself. The snake had calmed down quite a bit and was settled in for its healing bath. He wished he could ask it if there was anything he could do to make it more comfortable. And that was when he had a thought.

There _was_ a way for him to be able to talk to the snake. Familiars were not uncommon among the magical community. A bond between an animal and a witch, tended and nurtured by the witch until such a time would come that either party would want it to be broken. The witch gets the benefit of having a trusted partner to resonate their magic through, allowing for more powerful spells than could usually be produced by an individual. There was a reason witches were known to form covens, it was just much harder to find other humans to trust enough to cast the more powerful spells with. Familiars get the benefit of being able to communicate to their witch and are usually well taken care of. And while the bond would inevitably hurt once it needed to be broken, Aziraphale felt that the companionship that it offered while existing would be worth the future pain.

Aziraphale had never had a familiar before, but, well, this poor snake wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon in its current shape. It might be nice if he could tell it that he was going to take care of it without it constantly panicking from nonexistent threat his hands seemed to pose.

Decision made, Aziraphale took in a deep breath and unlatched the lid. Crowley’s attention flicked between his face and his hand before focusing on his hand as it reached down and gently stroked his scales. Releasing his breath, Aziraphale clearly spoke out an ancient word of bonding, and oh, Crowley suddenly realized what was happening. There was nothing he could do however, and he felt the foreign magic slip _under_ his scales, winding down his very being and deep into his essence to the place where his soul would be, if he had one.

Aziraphale looked satisfied. “Hello, my dear,” he said putting his hands under coils of serpent and pulling the snake out onto a tartan towel, “Do you understand me now?”

Crowley wondered how he managed to get himself in these ridiculous situations. How long would it take before this idiotic, well-meaning human’s soul would be corrupted because it had bonded itself to a demon? He suddenly came to terms it might take a lot longer for him to get back to hell than originally planed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No snakes were harmed in the making of this.  
I do actually own a snake, and let me tell you, they are adorable but not the brightest creatures out there. When they strike and miss they get super confused and hang there for a bit. They really don't like baths, and I don't recommend bathing them with random herbal remedies you found online.   
Burns are a common injury for a snake that has an owner who fails to set up their heating pad correctly and I cannot stress enough that burns should be treated properly and also probably checked out by a vet. Take care of your little scaley friends, they can't do it themselves.


	4. Chapter 4

“Do you understand me now?”

The witch’s expression is nervous. Crowley almost feels bad for the sharp quip on the tip of his forked tongue, but maybe if he can offend the witch enough, he would be convinced to sever the bond sooner and he could take his leave. As of now the bond would prevent him from leaving this human like he wished he could. Or it would come back to bite him, being rude to his captor. He was a demon with a specialization in self-destruction after all, and it would not be the first time he had to face the consequences of his own actions. Crowley lifted his head up enough so that the height difference between him and the sitting human was not as bad.

_Of course I can underssstand you, you, you bumbling _human_!_ Crowley’s anger was manifesting itself in a hiss that even a quasi-mental form of communication could not mask.

Azriaphale’s expression became confused. “I’m sorry?”

_Well now that you can hear me you can hear thisss! Do you have no sssence of persssonal ssspace? I was napping in that tree! And even if that’sss a no with the whole persssonal ssspace bit do you have absolutely no ssself-pressservation inssstinct? I am venomousss! And then you had to go and bind me to you? Unbelievably rude._

The witch looked crestfallen. “My dear I am so sorry to have upset you, I just wanted to help when I saw your injuries. I just thought it might be nice to be able to understand you, I wasn’t even planning to use you in my spell casting,” he fiddled with the edge of the towel, clearly wanting to dry the snake off but not wanting to upset him further.

Crowley’s anger deflated, leaving him feeling inexplicably small. Of all the selfish and power-hungry witches out there, he had to come across one who saw injured creature and wanted to make it his familiar so he could chat with it while it healed. As a demon, Crowley was used to dealing with the worst type of mortals, the ones that would condemn themselves to try and access his destructive powers. This concern was filling him with something he hadn’t felt in many lifetimes. It took him a moment to recognize it as regret.

_‘sss fine. Well, no, it’sss not fine but it will be eventually. In the future try not to piss off any more creatures minding their own business. They might not be as forgiving._

The witch immediately began to perk up and leaned forward, drying the serpent’s body while being extra cautious around each of the burn injuries. “Well my dear, do you have a name?”

Crowley snorted. _Of course I do. I like to be called Crowley._

Aziraphale surveyed the demon. “I do believe it suits you. I’m going to pick you up now, is that all right?” he waited for Crowley to slowly bob his head before slipping his hands under dark coils and maneuvering them to be wrapped around his arm and neck, mindful of his injuries. “I have a balm that I think should work wonders on those burns,” he said as he walked them out of the kitchen an into his workroom.

This was very clearly a witch’s domain, Crowley thought, surveying the shelves of ancient spell books, neatly stacked and labeled potions, and drying herbs hanging from the ceiling. Aziraphale cleared a space on a large desk in the middle of the room, reverently closing a book that looked to written in Linear B and placing an incomplete house-ward translation on top of it. The witch encouraged Crowley to move onto the cleared surface, which he did, before he fluttered off to a shelf full of potions. He returned moments later with a squat jar full of a cream coloured substance. Uncapping it released a rather pleasant, earthy aroma that the snake demon breathed in. Aziraphale scooped up a dollop before gently putting it on one of Crowley’s burns. A warm tingly sensation replaced the irritated burning the holy water had left.

_Oh, that’s nice. _ Crowley eyed the human as he moved to another burn. _And what about you?_

“Hmm?” he said, pausing in his ministrations.

_What’s your name? Or do you expect me to just call you master, because if you do, I have some unfortunate news for you_. Crowley flicked his tongue at the witch, scenting his discomfort.

The witch blushed. “Good heavens no! My name is Aziraphale, though most of the town just calls me Fell,”

Crowley nearly laughed. _That’s a bit presumptuous isn’t it? A holy name?_

“It’s a bit of a family tradition I’m afraid,” Aziraphale shifted with discomfort, “How did you know it was a holy name?”

Crowley paused. What reason would be good enough to explain why a snake knows such things about holy and infernal facts? He couldn’t exactly say that he could feel the slight prickling sensation that accompanies all holy things when mentioned around a demon. He could lie. Crowley was by no means a very good liar, but without any limbs most of his tells were hidden. It might be the best option. He settled to say _I’ve gotten around angel,_ filling the last word with just enough teasing to distract from the wavering in the next part, _I’ve been around witches before._ There. That wasn’t even a complete lie.

“Is that so?” Aziraphale said thoroughly distracted by the next patch of burned scales he was rubbing the balm into, “I must admit that I thought you might be someone’s escaped pet. I’m quite certain that there are no snakes like you native to England. Did you by chance belong to a witch before you ended up in my garden?” Crowley could see a sudden though occur to the man. “You weren’t someone else’s familiar, we you? I didn’t just override their bond, did I? Oh, I’m such a fool!”

Discomfited by the distress on the witch’s face, Crowley found himself trying to reassure the strange human. _Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never been a familiar before. And besides, only the caster or death can break a familiar bond_. The last bit was said without a hint of the resentment that Crowley felt. Demon summoning rarely ended well for the summoner. The goal would usually be to bind the demon’s powers for the summoner to use themselves, either by making a deal (which rarely worked in the witch’s favor) or by overwhelming the demon (which usually only happens with a sufficiently large cult or coven). Apparently, forming a familiar bond with a demon stuck in an animal form worked too. Aziraphale, whether he realized it or not, had bound a demon’s powers to himself.

“But did you belong to someone before?” The witch asked earnestly. His expressive face was quickly becoming incredibly endearing to Crowley which he found to be very alarming.

Time for another half lie. _It was a while ago_, A very,_ very_ long time ago, but that’s beside the point, _and he was a rather nasty individual. How do you think I ended up in the state I am now?_

While Aziraphale took that to mean injured, escaped from what he now assumed was some mad witch performing horrible magical experiments on innocent creatures, Crowley meant his current form of a demon. After all, demons do not just appear. He had to fall first. It wasn’t his fault that the witch he had been apprenticed to thousands of years ago had ended up using his apprentices in a blood ritual gone wrong (though when do they ever go right?). Either way, both their corrupted souls were locked up in the depths of hell and Crowley was as free of him as a demon could be.

Aziraphale finished treating the last of Crowley’s burns. “Well I certainly will not be returning you to anyone if you don’t want to go, my dear. But I do promise you that I will take care of you, and as soon as you are fully recovered, I will let you go where ever you want.” The witch smiled brightly down at him.

Crowley looked back at his burned corporation. _It might take a shed or two before I’m free of this mess._ He frowned to the best of his abilities, which is to say not at all since snake faces have never been capable of being very expressive.

“Are you hungry my dear? I could probably rustle up something for you if you’d like,”

_I’m a snake, angel. I don’t eat all that often_. By which he meant ‘I’m a snake demon. I don’t eat at all.’ Seeing the look of concern, he added, Really. I’m fine for now. I’ll let you know if I get peckish.

“All right then. I think I will get myself some lunch before getting back to work, I really should have opened the shop by now…” he trailed off as they both heard the sound of knocking coming from the front of the building.

“Oh, I forgot completely about Anathema!”, he stood up and quickly shouted, “Coming, coming, I’ll be right there in a tic,” before walking out the doorway Crowley assumed lead to the front of the building, leaving a mildly bewildered snake sitting on his desk. Crowley curled up slightly tighter upon himself. Not much to do now but wait and see where the future would take him.

.....

In another corner of England in a large manor house a phone was ringing. Footsteps echoed smartly on marble floors as a woman with a loose flowing white shirt and a tight updo walked through the empty halls to reach it. Picking up the old-fashioned receiver from the cradle, she answered promptly.

“Grace residence, how can we help you?” she paused listening to the speaker on the other end, “A demon, you say? In which town?” another pause, and then, “Oh. That is very interesting indeed. I believe my family may be able to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some new characters are being introduced while Hastur passes his problem on to someone else and makes a hasty retreat from the story like the slimy toad he is. I'm pretty sure that's the last we will hear of him for the rest of this work. But now there's bigger fish showing up.


	5. Chapter 5

In a town as small as Tadfield the townsfolk tend to notice changes. They also tend to keep talking about those changes long after they originally occurred. Anathema Device, or as the townsfolk called her, ‘that American witch’, was a very peculiar witch. For one thing, she preferred to be called an occultist. This was probably due to how the Salem witch trials had made the term ‘witch’ go out of popularity in the States, but still was a point of contention between her and the greater witch community in Tadfield.

Anathema’s arrival in Tadfield just over half a year ago was still the talk of the town. Jasmine Cottage had been empty for a long time before she started renting it, and her occupation of it had led a certain group of curious kids to finally introduce her to, in her opinion, the best members of the town. One of which she was currently standing in front of their bookshop.

Anathema had first met the bizarre bookseller after complaining to the Them about the gardening failures she was experiencing. Adam had mentioned that the local bookshop owner was rumored to have a magic garden behind his home, and that maybe he could help prevent her vegetables from being eaten during the night. Soon after meeting the intriguing bookseller (_Please, call me Aziraphale my dear girl_) they had struck up a friendship that led to many discussions of spells and books over Saturday tea.

And Aziraphale _had_ helped come up with a magical solution to keep unwanted pests out of her garden while still allowing in the much-desired pollinators and non-destructive visitors, but she never did find out what had been eating her plants, be it a magical monstrosity or just a particularly determined rabbit. Either way, once Anathema had discovered Aziraphale’s collection of ancient, and often unique magic books she had not stopped trying to gain access to research from them. She had a motive for her fascination with old books, and a unique understanding for how important advice from the past could be.

Which all led back to the closed bookshop she was standing in front of, unsurprised to find it closed despite the fact that it was just after noon. Anathema was just about to knock again when she heard a faint “Coming, coming, I’ll be right there in a tic,” followed by movement in the depths of the store. Moments later she was met by a grinning, if slightly harried, Aziraphale.

“My dear girl, I must apologize. That translation you wanted is not quite done yet, I’m afraid I’ve gotten a slight bit distracted this morning. Why don’t you come in for some lunch or perhaps some tea? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Baffled, Anathema hesitated, “If you have company I could always come back later –”

“Nonsense my dear girl! Please do come in,” Aziraphale held the door open for her and Anathema stepped through the threshold. “Which would you prefer? Lunch or tea? I have some lovely little biscuits that Deidre Young gifted to me the other day,” he trailed off, leading Anathema towards the back rooms of the shop.

“Tea is fine.”

Aziraphale made an agreeing hum. “Let’s see then. Crowley, we have a guest!” he called out.

Anathema had barely entered Aziraphale’s workroom when a sudden movement drew her attention to the desk. She later would be perfectly willing to admit that she screamed when her brain caught up and informed her what the moving black and red coils were.

“There’s a giant snake in your house!” Anathema was frozen in the doorway, a hand over her chest feeling her frantically beating heart. Aziraphale seemed oblivious to her panic. He walked over to the desk and placed his hand next to the giant snake before turning to face Anathema.

“Indeed, there is. Crowley, this is Anathema, a dear friend of mine. Anathema, this is Crowley. I found him in my garden this morning and I am going to be caring for him until he heals up. In fact, I’ve made him my familiar for the time being!”

Anathema was no longer paying attention. Her thought process had caught on the word familiar. Words from a long dead witch were playing in her mind. “When that the familiere serepent doth appeare, dangr shall lurke on its taile” she muttered under her breath.

“I’m sorry my dear, did you say something?” Aziraphale paused in his explanation.

Anathema shook her head. “Tea! You said something about biscuits?”

Aziraphale smiled patiently, “Of course, my dear girl. Just wait here, I’ll be right back. Be good Crowley.”

Crowley stuck his tongue out, but only Aziraphale could hear his soft, _What are you afraid I’m gonna do, hiss at her?_

After Aziraphale disappeared off into the kitchen Anathema turned to contemplate the snake she was left with. Crowley turned his lamp-like golden eyes on her and Anathema had the funny feeling that she was being judged.

“Hello Crowley. I’m sure you can understand me to some extent,” The snake stared back mulishly, unblinking eyes focused on Anathema’s face. “I guess you technically are a familiar serpent. Just not what I was really expecting. We thought Agnes was speaking in hyperbole about some sneaky individual.”

Crowley would like to say he knew that the girl was talking about, but she just seemed to be speaking nonsense. He shifted until his head was lifted off the table, nearing eyelevel with Anathema.

She looked over the snake’s injured length. “You poor thing. I guess I’m glad that Aziraphale is helping you, but if Agnes was right, and she always is, we’re all in for some major trouble.”

Crowley shifted uneasily. He didn’t know who this Agnes was but if she could somehow sense his demonic nature buried under his current scaly corporation then it was easy to see the trouble that could come from it. Crowley certainly wouldn’t be going out of his way to cause major trouble, not when in such a weak form, but most sensible witches freaked out as soon as they caught a hint of a demon’s presence on the mortal plane. Something about how sane humans prefer their souls to be uncorrupted.

Just then Aziraphale tottered back into the workshop. “Tea is ready, my dears. Shall we adjourn to the kitchen?”

Anathema nodded, and Aziraphale collected the coils of his familiar up in his arms before leading the was back to the kitchen. A small, circular dining table was set with two mugs of prepared tea and a tin of biscuits. Anathema claimed one of the mugs while Aziraphale gently lowered the serpent to an empty seat. Before he had the chance to sit down Crowley surged up onto the table and wrapped himself around the remaining mug of tea, leaving Aziraphale and Anathema staring.

_What?_ he groused, _‘s warm_. Crowley settled his coils around the mug.

Aziraphale sighed, “Really, my dear?” and went to pour himself a new cup.

The remainder of Aziraphale and Anathema’s tea went without a hitch, the two friends catting idly about anything and nothing all at once. Crowley found himself drifting off to sleep, mellowed out by the warmth of his own mug and the gentle laughter of his witch. He only awoke when Aziraphale was bidding Anathema goodbye, promising to drop by later with the completed house-ward translation.

After he saw her out the front door and finally flipped the sign to open, Aziraphale came back to clear up.

_She’s a bit of an odd duck, that witch._

“Well she _is_ American, my dear. Now, would you care to join me in the front of the shop? I do have a business to run, and maybe the sight of a giant snake will discourage anyone from trying to buy my books.”

Slightly confused by the witch’s logic, Crowley assented to be picked up and settled himself on Azirapahle’s shoulders for a bit of people watching. Who was he to refuse someone else encouraging him to make some minor mischief?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secret magical communities are always so hard to world-build for. Like, how can one function without someone going 'Hey! Magic exists!' every five minutes? I'm going with the 'most witchy people keep it to themselves and every time someone from the non-witch community hears about witch things they just kinda nod and think that it's like when a five year old offers you a cup of pretend tea and just go along with it like whatever, it's not really real'.   
That said there is always gonna be that one nut who claims that magic is real and witches walk among us. And they end up dragging hapless individuals into their witch hunt.


	6. Chapter 6

The thing with unsupervised children is that they tend to find trouble, intentionally or otherwise. They can wander into locations that should otherwise remain untouched. Such as the space behind a church. It is a place of superstition where only a few brave souls ever wander, and often only because they were dared to.

When the Them had wandered down to the woods past the town’s only church the young group of witches had encountered a foreboding feeling that was usually associated with dark and spooky nights, not pleasant daytime strolls. Even Dog, Adam Young’s familiar, was standing with his hackles raised, whispering for his person and his friends to retreat from this particular stretch of the woods. Adam was trying to calm his trembling familiar when Brian spoke up.

“Pepper, do you want to go and have a look up ahead?”

Pepper, usually unafraid of anything, was seriously off put by the foreboding feeling coming from in front of them. “And get cursed by some undead monster? Why don’t you go instead?”

Wensleydale, peering out from behind his glasses spoke up. “Actually, I think it might be best if none of us go. Perhaps we should go find an adult?”

“That’s the coward’s way out,” scoffed Pepper.

“But you just said you didn’t want to go in case you got cursed!” Brian sometimes couldn’t follow Pepper’s logic.

“That’s because I’m being pragmatic. Everyone knows that the person who wanders off into the woods alone dies first in a horror movie.”

“But this isn’t a movie!” Brian knew, as everyone else should, that horror films only occurred at night. At least as far as he could tell from movie trailers. He wasn’t allowed to watch horror films.

“Well actually, this does seem to be the perfect set up for a horror film,” Wensleydale looked between his companions, “A small secluded town, a dog barking at mysteries in the woods. Why, we even already have witches here so who knows what kind of magical monsters could also exist?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Movies aren’t real.”

“Then I dare you to go see what Dog is barking about!”

“Oh yeah? I dare you right back!”

“Stop your arguing! We’re all going to check it out together!” And thus, the leader had spoken, and so his commands were carried out.

Adam, Pepper, Brian, Wensleydale, and a trembling Dog cautiously approached the stretch of woods just beyond the graveyard wall, following the ominous sensation to where it was at is greatest. Only a few steps further and it became quite apparent what was causing the young witches and familiar to feel so twitchy.

“We need to tell an adult,” Brian said hollowly.

“Who? Who would even know what to do about this? I don’t think there is a single person in this town experienced with this sort of thing. My mother sure wouldn’t know,” Said Pepper.

“Anathema might,” Adam peeled his eyes away from the sight in front of him, “She hasn’t spent her entire life in this town. Maybe she knows what this could be.”

The Them took one last look at the mess in front of them before turning tail and running, pausing only to hop the short graveyard wall and continuing their fast pace past crumbling headstones as they made there way back to town. They didn’t even pause as neighborhood busybody R. P. Tyler shouted out after them.

“Adam Young, if I find out you and your friends have been desecrating graves you better believe your parents will hear about this!”

Disgruntled when his words didn’t seem to even effect the Them’s retreating backs, Mr. Tyler hefted himself to his feet to go investigate whatever trouble the Them had surely caused. Now unlike the young witches of the Them, R. P. Tyler had not a lick of magic about him and felt nothing like fear as he strode towards the woods. He did however have a fully functioning nose, and it was only a moment before he started to pick up a strange combination of smells. A whiff of rust, a hint of sulphur, and the confusing scent that reminded him of the time his wife had burnt the Christmas ham. When he finally caught sight of the mess, he let out a gasp.

“Sorcery! Witchcraft! Right in the heart of Tadfield! Oh, is there no place left that’s holy?” Clearly, whoever had made this mess was in league with the church. That useless Father had allowed those heathens to practically desecrate the holy ground. Heart pounding, he made just as hasty of a retreat as the Them had made minutes before. He must make it home before the sorcerers knew he was on to them. There had to be someone he could call who could handle these witches. Perhaps there was a number in his phonebook.

.....

In the bookshop halfway across town a certain bookdealer was starting to have second thoughts. The snake currently acting as a heavy weight across his shoulders _was_ acting as a deterrent to customers, having successfully preventing at least three purchases thus far.

“You aren’t too upset with being my familiar, are you Crowley?” Aziraphale asked as the last customer turned tail and fled the shop.

Crowley slid partially onto the desk in front of him. _It’s not like any familiar is given much choice. The witch forms the bond, not the other way around._

A moment later Aziraphale discovered that Crowley’s head fit perfectly in the palm of his hand and was gently stroking the loose skin just behind his jaw with his thumb. Crowley seemed to relax into it for a moment before regaining his senses.

_You do realize I am venomous, right?_

“Well it’s not like you’re about to bite me, is it?”

_Not while you’re holding me. I don’t particularly fancy the drop._ Aziraphale turned the snake’s head to face his own. Crowley’s pupils dilated slightly as he took in the witch’s expression.

“Would you prefer I remove the bond? I feel somewhat bad for trapping you. You’re so much more sentient than I realized a familiar would be, and you were so angry when I first met you.” His eyes were almost regretful. The snake didn’t like the look on him.

Crowley considered his options. Breaking a familiar bond was supposed to be incredibly painful for the individuals involved, discouraging frivolous bonding. He wondered if Aziraphale knew that. It seemed like it should be common knowledge, but humans could emotionally bond with anything. Perhaps most witches allowed for their familiar bonds to run their natural course, ending with one party dying rather than having to break an active bond themselves.

Crowley was no stranger to pain, his whole corporation was occasionally twinging whenever he brushed a burn against anything, but he knew that the kind of pain that came with breaking a bond would hurt infinitely worse. It would feel like having your soul ripped from your body. It would feel like falling.

Crowley didn’t know if he could stand intentionally forcing that feeling upon someone else.

He could wait until he recovered and rebuilt his reserves of demonic power and then break the bond himself, but that would destroy Aziraphale entirely. If there was even the slightest chance that Aziraphale could be saved from falling too, then Crowley would rather take that option. Hell would chew him up and spit out something unrecognizable.

That left only one other choice; to live out the rest of Aziraphale’s natural life as his snake familiar, the witch becoming an unwitting companion to a demon. As long as his bosses didn’t come up to investigate where he was for the next fifty years or so, and let’s face it, immortal creatures are very bad noticing time passing, he might even be able to get away with it, if he kept his demonic influences to a minimum. Sure, it might somewhat kill him on the inside, but he was a demon with a reputation of bringing his own problems upon himself. Might as well enjoy the fresh air of earth for as long as he could.

Decision made, he cocked his head to the side. _Oh no. you’ve made me your problem. You can’t get rid of me that easily. We’re both in for the long haul._

Aziraphale’s hopeful grin returned with a vengeance. “Oh, splendid! Now, I do believe the shop has been open long enough for today. I should start making arrangements for you, so you’ll be comfortable. Unless you want me to set up a terrarium for you?”

_Absolutely not, do I look like a fucking pet?_

“Well there really is no need for that kind of language,” Aziraphale quickly wandered to the front of the shop and steadfastly flipped the sign to closed. “How about a basket of some sort? I could line it with blankets, make it a cozy sleeping spot.”

_Better._

“Alright then, what if I just…” he trailed off and with a look of concentration spoke a word of summoning. Crowley hissed as the apple basket Aziraphale had been using earlier fell on top of them.

“Oh!” Aziraphale startled, “I’m so sorry my dear! Usually it takes longer than that to appear.”

Crowley tightened his grip with his tail on Azriaphale’s arm. _You’re casting with a familiar now. Every spell, summon, ritual, whatever you do will be amplified. _

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked between the snake and the basket, “This will need to be bigger, won’t it?”

_If you’re planning on endearing yourself to me, it better. Ready to try and cast another spell?_

The witch nodded. “I think so.”

Placing the basket in the space behind the desk he centered himself before placing a hand on Crowley’s back. With the word of growth Crowley could feel a twisting sensation of the bond tapping into his essence. Internally he cringed, prepared to watch the basket explode in a burst of hellfire, but to his surprise the basket simply surged into a bigger size, one much more suited for his serpent form to curl up in. With a final tug of magic, Aziraphale leaned down and opened the basket, revealing a tartan blanket lined interior.

“How does that suit you, my dear?”

_It’ll do. For now._ Crowley was trying very hard to not freak out. The witch almost seemed to be tapping into his infernal power, but without the telltale destruction that couldn’t be the case. He had to be mistaken.

Oblivious to his familiar’s distress, Aziraphale carried both said familiar and the basket deeper into his home. “Let’s see, the kitchen might be the warmest place. How would you feel about putting your basket next to the stove for the night? I could move it wherever you would rather it be, of course.”

_It’sss fine here._ Crowley’s agitation was emerging in the return of his hiss. To distract Aziraphale he quickly said, _you do realizsse I can move around on my own, yesss? You don’t have to carry me everywhere. It’sss a little humiliating._

“I didn’t realize it made you feel that way,” said a slightly disappointed Aziraphale. He had already come to appreciate the weight and pressure Crowley’s cool scales provided. “I just didn’t wan to jostle your injuries anymore than necessary.”

_Well you can’t go around treating me like a fragile,_ he struggled to find an appropriate word, _thing. I’m not a newborn hatchling, I am a terrifying venomous snake. _New born snakes were called hatchlings, right?

“Very terrifying,” Aziraphale conceded, “When you hissed at me when we first met? I was practically shaking in my shoes.”

_Don’t patronize me, angel._ Crowley could practically hear the smirk in the witch’s voice.

“Very well, my dear. Care to join me in the workshop?”

Aziraphale carefully pulled the snake off of his shoulders and left him on the ground.

Crowley followed him, pointedly trying to ignore his damaged skin crinkling with every movement.

As Aziraphale settled himself down at the desk, Crowley took it upon himself to investigate the witch’s inner sanctum. He slinked past bookshelves, noting that not only were the shelves sagging under the weight of books, but also stone tablets and vellum scrolls wound tightly and covered by protective sheaths. Flicking out his tongue he could scent the age clinging to them. Moving to another wall there was a receded fireplace, empty with a cauldron hanging inside. This must be where the witch brewed his potions. Everyone knew not to make potions in the same place as where you eat, that was just asking for trouble and accidental poisonings.

Finally, he moved past shelves of neatly labeled potions, herby scents lingering around them. He turned to the witch, lifting the front of his body off the ground to peer up at him. Aziraphale had produced glasses from somewhere and was focused on whatever was on the table in front of him, just out of Crowley’s view. With a huff, Crowley slithered up to the chair and up onto Aziraphale’s lap before winding around his back and over his right shoulder to look down at what Aziraphale was working on. It was the same book and translation he had open on the desk from before.

Crowley looked at the print in the book. At first, he thought his eyes were acting up more so than usual when he tried to read, then it clicked for him. _Where did you learn to read this Angel? It’s not English._

“Oh! You can read?” Aziraphale seemed very excited about this, turning to look at his familiar fully.

_Not very well. These eyes aren’t meant for reading letters. I can tell that it’s not in the roman alphabet though._ Nor was it any modern language either, but Crowley didn’t mention that he knew that.

“Well then, this is Linear B, a bronze age script from Greece. Of course, this book wasn’t written back then, but it contains rubbings from tablets the ancient Mycenean Greek witches used for spellcasting. This part here,” Aziraphale ran his finger just above a line of symbols in the book, “is the bulk of the spell. This one protects a home from approaching evil. And this word here,” he indicated to a symbol that made Crowley’s eyes itch, “is the name of the angel they were invoking to power the spell.”

_Well that’s fascinating and all, but how did you learn to read a dead language?_ Crowley was confused. This wasn’t a common language linguists would learn for fun like Egyptian hieroglyphs. Linear B was only re-deciphered fifty or so years ago.

“Ah. That would be because of my Uncle Az. He was a strange, intimidating man. Seemed to know something about everything,” Azriaphale’s eyes were swirling with remembrance before he returned to his story. “One day he caught me snooping in the family library and decided right then and there that I was to be his successor in the family business. You see, he was a historian and the lore master for our family. He ended up teaching me to translate as many languages as possible so I could keep our magical knowledge up to date. He left me his entire collection when he passed.”

Crowley, in his near infinite time, certainly wouldn’t have bothered to learn any dead languages he had missed out on in his life. He couldn’t imagine learning multiple in one short human lifespan. _It seems like your uncle was quite the individual._

“Oh, he was,” Aziraphale said with a tight grin that faded too quickly in Crowley’s opinion, “It wasn’t long after he passed that I had a bit of a falling out with my siblings. Took as many books as I could and left them behind to take care of the family business. Set up shop here in Tadfield, and I’ve been here ever since.”

_Probably for the best then._ Crowley tried to give a comforting squeeze to the shoulder he was resting on. He couldn’t tell if Aziraphale took it for what it was meant to be. _What exactly was the family business?_

“I’d rather not get into that, my dear. I did leave it behind for a reason. Now I believe it might be time for some dinner, if your interested.”

_If you insist._ As Aziraphale led them back to the kitchen Crowley wondered what type of family needed a personal historian in their business. Or for that matter gave their child a holy name. Seemed almost blasphemous to him. Then again, he was a demon. His entire existence should be blasphemous to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that there was no new chapter yesterday, I get a bit busy on weekends. To make up for it this chapter is a bit longer than usual.  
By the way, the whole Greek spell thing is based off real archaeological evidence. The only things I changed was the time period and language it was written in and that it invoked an angel name instead of a Greek god.  
Let me know if you see any typos/messed up grammar/ nonsense that doesn't make any sense.  
Bonus points to anyone who can figure out who Aziraphale's uncle is. It might help if you've read the book, I don't think his name was mentioned in the tv series.


	7. Chapter 7

Anathema Device was by all means an average witch. Not overly powerful, she had no familiar nor was she a member of a coven. No, what Anathema was, was a descendant. And a professional one at that. You see, generations ago lived the last true prophet in all of England, a witch known as Agnes Nutter. Ms. Nutter had the foresight to leave behind something for her descendants, and that something was The Book. _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch_. Agnes’s children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren and so on had been gifted the ability to decipher the future before it happened. Or at least they would have if Agnes had been so kind as to leave the prophecies in the order that they would occur. Instead they were jumbled up, generations of advice mixed together and left at the mercy of her descendants to figure out what referred to what. It meant that some prophecies were easy to see approaching based on clues sprinkled in them and on current events while others could only be recognized in hindsight. If only Agnes had left the dates that they were to occur in for all of them.

Anathema had the sneaking suspicion that Agnes may have been able to see the future but had absolutely no idea what was going on. It could be mildly frustrating. However, Anathema would have been a failure of a professional descendant if she had failed to recognize the key words from one of the prophecies.

After leaving Aziraphale’s bookshop she had rushed home to Jasmine cottage only to pull her most precious belonging out from its place of safekeeping, well-guarded under several wards. Then, as an afterthought, Anathema pulled out the hundreds of notecards her ancestors had made with their predictions, interpretations, and observations on the prophecies.

“Alright Agnes, what were you trying to tell us about?” Flipping to the right page, Anathema reread the words of her ancestress. _When that the familiere serepent doth appeare, dangr shall lurke on its taile._ Well, the serpent familiar was here, so then what type of danger would follow it?

Anathema glanced at the preceding and following prophecies, hoping for a break. No such luck. Both had already come to pass, one during WWI, the other in the 1970s. Switching tactics, she shuffled through the notecards until she came up with the corresponding one for the prophecy. It was mostly blank of helpful notes, only one comment left by her great-uncle if she was right about the handwriting, and his only suggestion was that the prophecy would come to pass in the year of the snake.

“Useless” she grumbled before retrieving her tablet. Not every witch was as technology illiterate as Aziraphale seemed to think they should be. It was time to do some research.

.....

It was early morning when Adam Young approached Jasmine cottage. Sitting on his horrid discovery all night had been increasingly difficult with every ‘What’s wrong dear?’ his parents had kept asking him, but he was here now, Dog faithfully standing next to him. The gentle buzz of protection wards whispered over them as he opened the gate leading up to the cottage’s front door.

“Anathema?” he called out, wrapping lightly on the door, “Are you there?”

Adam thought he could hear shuffling coming from inside before the door abruptly opened. Anathema stood before him looking extremely disheveled and incredibly alert. Her hair was in disarray, her dress was rumpled, and her glasses were crooked.

“Adam! What are you doing here?” Her hands quickly struck out to try and right the mess, but the damage was done. Adam stared at her incredulously.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes! Of course! I Just had a bit of a late night,” If by late night she meant falling asleep at her desk on top of her research. She leaned on the door frame. “Would you like to come in? I have some fresh orange juice if you’re interested.”

“Er, no thank you for the juice,” Adam shuffled his feet, “There’s something I really need to tell you about, but it might be better if you go take a look at it too.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Well, yesterday Pepper, Brian, Wensleydale, Dog and I were playing down by the old church, and we found the remains of some type of ritual down there. It felt _wrong_.” He tried to emphasize just how off whole area felt, but he wasn’t sure the point was getting across. Dog gave a little whimper that drew their attention before Anathema looked sharply back up at him. “I think something bad happened there.”

Anathema looked him over, concerned. “I can go check it out if that would make you feel better. Why didn’t you tell your parents about this though?”

“I don’t think they’d know what to do. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen or heard mentioned among the older witches here. But you didn’t grow up here in Tadfield. Nothing ever changes here; the witches just do the same things they’ve been doing for centuries. It was you or Mr. Fell, and I think he still might be mad about the window incident.”

_Window incident?_ Anathema mouthed. “Never mind that. You said it was by the old church?”

Adam nodded. “Just behind the graveyard on the edge of the woods there.”

“Alright, I’ll go see what I can make of it. Don’t worry about it anymore, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Adam nodded and left, Dog trotting behind him. Anathema shook her head. Maybe this would be the break she needed, or it might even give her a clue as to what to do next. Heading back inside, she quickly changed into new clothes and set about cleaning up the mess she made last night, packing away the prophecy related notecards and putting Agnes’s book back under its wards. She then set off across town, following the directions Adam had given her.

Once she approached the back of the church, Anathema could immediately feel the sense of unease that accompanies a dark ritual emanating from behind the church. Coming around the corner of the cemetery wall revealed in all its horrifying glory the remains of the ritual. Glancing at the concentric circle and triangle combo, Anathema recognized the basic pattern for a summoning. What on earth could someone be summoning that required this much preparation and effort?

Steeling herself to step closer, her nose picked up the distinct rusty smell of blood. Partially faded runes were visible and once she could make out what they said she jumped back.

“Oh, shit!” Someone had summoned a demon. And not just summoned a demon, but released it, accidentally or on purpose. The ritual was broken. If it had been completed properly it would have faded already, but there was still a faint pulse of power coming off of it. A demon had been summoned and was still there, free to wreak havoc on the mortal plane.

Anathema felt faint. This was real danger. This is what Agnes had to have been warning her about. One last look around revealed the worst thing though. On the far edge of the ritual was the outline of a human body, incinerated into the surrounding earth.

.....

Aziraphale woke up the morning after finding his new familiar feeling invigorated. He felt the urge to do something today. Maybe go for a walk down by the river. Or he could go feed ducks at the duck pond in the center of town! Perhaps Crowley would want to join him.

He quickly changed from his tartan nightclothes into his regular daywear and continued his normal morning routine. The only difference is that once he left the upper portion of his house he stopped in the kitchen to open Crowley’s basket and peer in at the snake. He was curled up inside, head tucked up next to the opening.

“Crowley?” he called softly. His familiar didn’t respond. Aziraphale wondered if he was asleep. He reached into the basket and ran his fingertips down Crowley’s scales. He recoiled when he felt how cold the snake was. That couldn’t be good! Snakes weren’t meant to get too cold, it was unhealthy for them to experience such temperature changes, Aziraphale was sure of that.

Quickly, he opened the basket all the way up and eased the snake into his lap. He stroked down the length of Crowley’s body, mindful of his healing burns. At least they looked better than before, pink skin healing up, but the scales were still discolored. He gently ran a hand under the snake along his belly scutes, trying to warm his companion up. After a minute or so of these ministrations Crowley woke with a jolt, squirming until his tongue flicked out and he recognized Aziraphale’s scent.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

_‘m fine. A little cold._ The snake uncoiled itself in Azriaphale’s lap and slowly wrapped itself loosely around his neck, resting his head in one of his own loops. Aziraphale thought he looked a bit like a fashionable - if scaly - scarf.

“I thought you’d might like to join me in town today. I was going to take a walk along the river, maybe visit the duck pond. And I still have to deliver that ward to Anathema.”

Crowley peered up at the witch. He looked so hopeful. _Sure angel. Whatever you want. I’ll go along for the ride._ There. That set him off grinning. Aziraphale went off to finish his morning routine, now accompanied by a slowly warming up snake.

.....

When Aziraphale and Crowley left the shop later that morning Crowley was surprised at how few stares they got from the few townsfolk they ran into. Double takes, yes, but after people had glanced back to reassure they saw what they thought they did they moved on. He decided to comment on it.

_Are there a lot of blind folk here? Usually I’m used to more people screaming in fear when they see me._

Aziraphale chuckled. It was a warm sound that made Crowley bounce from his position on the witch’s shoulders. “I’m afraid not. No, this is Tadfield, one of the largest independent witch communities in England live here, no established covens. There’s only a handful of non-magical families in town, the poor dears. Anyone else can sense that you’re a familiar. Although, most of these folks are very traditional. There are quite a lot of cat familiars in this town.”

Crowley frowned as well as he could, which was not all that well, but he still felt the frown emotionally. _I’m not a big fan of cats. They’re a little too inquisitive for my tastes._ They seemed to see snakes as play toys.

“Oh my dear, curiosity never condemned anyone.”

Crowley snorted. It definitely had. He was living, well, semi-living proof of that. Were demons technically alive? His current body definitely was, what with its annoying need to breathe, a heart pumping blood through his single lung. Then again, it was maintaining itself off his natural demonic energies rather than any need for physical sustenance. Either way, his own curiosity had condemned him to an eternity of demonhood and, indirectly, his current position as a familiar to a mortal witch.

Aziraphale stopped at their first destination. Crowley watched in amusement as the ducks seem to recognize the man and immediately started to flock in his direction. Aziraphale pulled out a bag of grains from his pocket and proceeded to throw out a handful for the gathered fowl.

_Come here often?_ Crowley joked.

“Well, yes. I do enjoy feeding the ducks. Bread is bad for them, you know.” He threw out some more of the feed, the ducks clamoring over each other to get closer to him. However, just as quickly as they congregated, they started squawking and fleeing in every direction.

_What did you do?_

“It wasn’t me, Aziraphale sighed, “it was the swan.” Aziraphale pointed to the incredibly sinister looking swan that was slowly gliding towards them. “He’s very territorial. They must have heard him coming.”

_How could they hear him? _Crowley glanced suspiciously at the retreating ducks. _They don’t have any ears._

“My dear, you don’t have any ears, yet you seem to hear me alright,” Aziraphale stroked a finger around Crowley’s head.

_Of course I bloody well have ears! They’re just covered by scales._

“And the ducks’ ears are coved by feathers. Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

The swan arrived then, beating its wings aggressively until Aziraphale tutted, “Oh, honestly,” and dumped the remaining grains into the water in front of it. Crowley shifted his body partially off of the witch and let out a hiss at the swan, which, in turn, hissed _back_, startling Crowley who quickly retreated to the relative safety of Aziraphale’s head.

_She must have been mad when she made those bastards,_ he muttered.

“What was that?”

_Nothing. Didn’t we have a delivery to make?_

Aziraphale gently rewound Crowley’s body back around his neck. “Yes, I believe that’s about all the duck feeding we will get to do today.” The swan let out a few angry noises, and even Aziraphale had the sense to step back from it. The ducks huddled dejectedly on the other side of the pond. With one last wary glance at the feathered menace, Aziraphale and, by extension, Crowley headed towards the residential part of town.

It didn’t take long. Tadfield was not exactly a bustling metropolis. Aziraphale spent the entire journey pointing out houses and the people who lived there. Crowley mostly tuned him out in favor of watching the witch natter on and gesticulate. Aziraphale was incredibly expressive. It was a stark contrast to the usual company Crowley kept. Not that demons were all terrible. They could have a sense of humor, if watching someone else’s suffering and laughing at it counted as a sense of humor.

Crowley shook himself out of it as they approached the cottage Aziraphale assured him belonged to Anathema. Aziraphale opened the front gate and as soon as he passed through Crowley shuddered. This was definitely a witch’s house, and the wards they had placed along the property border were definitely not agreeing with him. It was a good thing he had nothing in his stomach because he was quickly becoming nauseous.

Aziraphale knocked on the door and politely took a step back, completely oblivious to Crowley’s squirming. Moments later the front door cracked open just enough for a sliver of Anathema’s face to peer through. Upon seeing who was there, she immediately threw open the door, smiling brightly.

“Aziraphale! Oh, and I see you brought Crowley too. Please, do come in,” she held the door open for them.

“Oh, thank you my dear girl. We’ve got that ward you wanted – Crowley, what are you doing?” Aziraphale was suddenly cut off as Crowley let out a shriek and practically leapt off his shoulders, slithering away across the yard, his body burning from the inside out. Unbeknownst to the three of them a warded horseshoe placed above the doorway burned red too.

“My dear are you alright?” Aziraphale took a few steps to follow the snake’s retreating form.

_Hurtsss,_ Crowley managed to get out.

Anathema gasped. “The wards! I haven’t given him permission to enter! Oh, the same thing happened when Adam first brought Dog here, I should have known better!” She leaned down and placed her hand onto the ground, pushing her fingers into the soil of the flowerbed next to her front door. “I, Anathema Device, do so give permission for the familiar Crowley to enter this land.”

Immediately Crowley felt something untense in his body and all the remaining traces of pain left him, except for where the ward had aggravated his wounds. Those still smarted.

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m so sorry Crowley. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Would you rather we go home now?”

_Pleassse._ The serpent wound himself into a tight ball.

“Alright then, I’ll take you back to the bookshop.”

_Don’t forget your ssstupid transsslation. It’sss why we came out here in the firssst placsse._ Crowley hissed out to him.

“Oh, of course! Anathema, my dear girl, this is for you.” He handed a bound folder full of notes over to the other witch. “I promise we will get together soon, I really should get Crowley back home now.”

“You have a very strong connection to him. It’s nice to see you making new friends.” It really _was_ a strong connection, Anathema thought. It was almost like they were having actual conversations together, rather than the shared emotional and mental connection that most familiars and witches formed, allowing them to read the other’s mood and sense their emotions. But everyone knew that at the end of the day familiars were just animals that a witch attached themselves to.

“We really do,” said Aziraphale with a smile as he scooped Crowley up in his arms, comforting the serpent, completely unaware that familiars shouldn’t be able to talk, and that his was in any way different than a normal familiar.

The two witches bid each other goodbye, and Aziraphale headed back to the bookshop. Meanwhile, Crowley let out a sigh. As long as he could manage to avoid any more incidents like that, he might just be able to avoid drawing attention to himself. Being a hidden demon in a tiny town was turning out to be more difficult than he had dared to hope it would be.

.....

Unbeknownst to any resident of Tadfield, three separate parties from all across England and Elsewhere had become aware of demon activity in the small town and were gearing up for their approach. In fact, the first one was due to arrive the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new challenger approaches...


	8. Chapter 8

Newton “Just Newt is fine, really” Pulsifer was still not sure how his life came to this. All he wanted to do was become a computer engineer. The only thing preventing him from achieving his dream was that every computer he ever touched developed a fatal error, usually resulting in the computer’s untimely death. Sometimes he thought he might be cursed. Years of studying books on the subject and tinkering with the non-functional family computer had given him hope that one day he could get a job working with electronics, but now that he was an adult it seemed that would not be the case.

Which led to the reasons behind why he was here, parking his baby blue Reliant Robin (yes, it really is a good car, you should invest in one too) in the tiny town center of Tadfield. Working as, and subsequently getting fired from being a wage clerk had left him with nothing to do, and one chance encounter with a half-crazed old Scottish man, Newt had become the newest Private in the Witchfinder Army. He may not believe any of Sergeant Shadwell’s claims about witches and the horrors that they bring upon this world, but at least he got out of the house and away from his mum. Small blessings.

No, the reason Newt was here specifically was that someone here had phoned Shadwell and told the old man about how witchcraft was at the heart of Tadfield, threatening the good nature of every individual there. Shadwell had hung up, turned to face Newt, and told him excitedly in his near indecipherable brogue that it was time for his first field mission.

“Go to Tadfield, he said. Set up surveillance, he said. Find and burn the witches, he said. Like that’s no big deal,” Newt grumbled to himself as he slowly meandered his way towards the church at the edge of the town. Whoever had called to tell the old man that witches were in Tadfield had said evidence was there, clear as daylight for anyone to walk up and find it. Newt frowned at the old building. It didn’t look particularly sinister, just like any old church in any of the small villages that dotted the English countryside. Glancing around to make sure he wasn’t being observed, as small villages like this tend to keep track of their visitors and he didn’t want to be run out of town as soon as he got there, Newt quickly ducked behind the church.

There was no evidence, clear as daylight or otherwise, that immediately screamed out ‘witchcraft was done here’. Newt wandered further back, towards the tree line. There was _something_ there, but at first he wasn’t quite sure what it was. The ground there had been recently disturbed. It looked almost tilled, like someone had taken a spade to it. Kneeling down at the edge of the disturbed patch, Newt took a handful of dirt and brought it up for closer inspection. There was an odd scent coming off of it. Like burnt, rotten eggs? He released the handful and something else caught his eye. From the depths of the dirt something red shimmered with a light of its own. A chill ran down Newt’s spine. Maybe there was something decidedly witchy here after all.

.....

Aziraphale crept downstairs in the early morning as quietly as he could. Last night while being observed by Crowley, who had been watching from the kitchen table wrapped around his mug of cocoa, he had set up a little heating spell to keep Crowley’s basket warm. He hoped he got it good enough. England wasn’t exactly the perfect place to live with a snake, although Aziraphale as of yet still hadn’t managed to figure out what species of snake Crowley was. Maybe it was because all his bestiaries were at least two centuries out of date.

Whatever type of snake Crowley turned out to be, Aziraphale was determined to find out the best way to take care of him. Crowley constantly insists that he doesn’t need help with anything, and Aziraphale was more than willing to help cater to that idea by making his world as snake friendly as possible. His familiar seems to crave the independence that being a snake in a human-oriented world just didn’t provide. His lack of limbs was almost a personal afront to Crowley.

“Crowley dear,” Aziraphale called out, “are you awake?” In the kitchen he only had do glance downwards to see that Crowley was not in his basket. Instead he was partially on, partially off of it. He leaned down to pet the snake’s tail. “Poor dear. Was it too hot in there?”

Crowley slowly woke up, taking in the concerned expression of his witch. _Don’t worry about it too much, angel. I’ll make do._

Aziraphale sighed, “I don’t want you to have to make do. I promise, I’ll figure out something that works better for you, my dear.”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale stood up and started puttering around the kitchen making breakfast. Soon the air was filled with the sound sizzling and the taste of sausage. When Aziraphale eventually sat down to eat Crowley joined him up on the table. Aziraphale soon became concerned with how intently Crowley was watching him, how his head seemed to track the path his fork made from the plate to his mouth. “Are you hungry my dear?”

Crowley glanced at the bit of sausage Aziraphale was offering him. _No. Don’t worry about me._

Aziraphale returned to eating and Crowley returned to staring. Aziraphale put his fork down.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything Crowley dear?”

_I’m sure. I like watching you eat. It’s fascinating._ Crowley didn’t want to admit just _how_ much he liked watching Aziraphale eat; the witch savoring every mouthful, dabbing at his lips with a cloth napkin every few bites. The few occasions he had witnessed other demons eating it had always been a terribly messy affair, often involving viscera and open-mouthed chewing. Even for the two- or three-times Crowley himself dined he had always just swallowed his meals whole, no mess involved. He had never seen someone enjoy food in the same way Aziraphale seemed to.

Aziraphale held his gaze for a minute longer before accepting his words and proceeded to finish up his meal. The witch was finishing up the dishes when he noticed that Crowley was still staring at him, his head perched on the back of Aziraphale’s recently vacated chair. “Are you sure you’re alright my dear? You have been acting rather strangely this morning.”

Crowley wiggled a little bit, settling into a more comfortable position. _I’m alright. Just coming to terms that this is my life now._

Aziraphale’s face fell, and oh, that hurt Crowley on a level he wasn’t even aware he had. He quickly spoke to amend that awful feeling.

_Not that that’s a bad thing. I’m rather enjoying the domesticity of all this._ And he was. In less than three days Crowley had found himself growing incredibly attached to this witch, this man, with his cheerful demeanor, in a way that was decidedly undemonic. ‘Angel’ was not just a nickname for the witch anymore. He even found himself hoping that She would see his true nature and spare him for daring to help a demon. 

Aziraphale’s face broke into a soft smile as he approached the snake, kneeling down and cupping Crowley’s head with one hand. It was still damp from washing dishes. “My dear boy, I’ve been ever so happy to have made a companion from your company. I may be living in a community of people like myself, but I have had such a hard time finding real friends for most of my life. You have no idea what it means to me to find someone I trust enough to get close to, familiar or not.”

Crowley felt his organs sputter oddly. Demons were never considered trustworthy beings, what with the whole being made only to destroy things. He vowed then and there to be to be as good of a friend to Aziraphale as possible. Even if it was partially just to spite hell and all he had been forced to go through, he would do right by his angel. And if he failed, if Aziraphale was to fall, he would be there to catch him and protect him from the worst hell had to offer.

Aziraphale’s smile widened as his familiar rubbed his head into his palm before smoothly climbing his arm to rest along his shoulders. _Come on angel, what do you have planned for us to do today?_

“Well,” Aziraphale started, “I was going to give you some more ointment for those wounds, I’d rather they heal a bit faster than naturally, yes? And then I thought we might get to go out and enjoy the garden for a bit. It’s looking like we might even have sunny weather today.”

_Sounds excellent. Let’s go. _

As Aziraphale got from where he was crouched, he felt Crowley wrap the tip of his tail around his wrist. It felt like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only reason Shadwell is not making a full blown appearance in this fic is that I'm afraid that I won't be able to capture his character in the same was as the book or how he was portrayed in the TV series. I fear the accent.


	9. Chapter 9

Crowley had been Aziraphale’s familiar for just under a week, and already it felt like he had been there forever. The two of them had settled almost seamlessly into a routine. In the morning Crowley would keep Aziraphale company while he ate breakfast, and then the two of them would venture out into the witch’s garden. Aziraphale had proudly shown off his plants, and Crowley had taken to slithering through the growth as it parted for him, encouraging it to be the best it could be. Aziraphale called it terrorizing his plants, but secretly he didn’t mind too much. It made Crowley happy, and the flowers _were_ blooming better than he had ever seen before.

After tending to the garden Aziraphale either would or would not open up his shop. Crowley would diligently scare off most potential customers, while Aziraphale’s witch patrons would occasionally come in to ask about obscure information or spells. Crowley quickly discovered that Aziraphale had a book for just about anything. He may not know everything off the top of his head, but he knew where he could find the information in a jiffy.

They would then proceed have lunch together. At least, Aziraphale would eat and Crowley would sling himself over furniture nearby to his witch. Aziraphale would work to fulfill requests from the townsfolk until tea time, at which point he would stop and pour two mugs. One for himself, and one for Crowley to wrap around, leaching heat off of. Twice since Crowley had met her, Anathema had joined them. Both times Crowley had thought that she seemed distracted. Aziraphale had asked her about it, but she just waved him off, saying that she had started a new project that was keeping her occupied. When he had tried to pry, Anathema had dismissed it, saying it wasn’t something she wanted the bookseller worried about.

Dinner would come and go with Crowley giving Aziraphale company. The snake demon quickly discovered that while Aziraphale was more than capable of cooking for himself, he would often get carryout from the pub down the street. He was very friendly with the owner, a rather chatty woman who also rented the only rooms in the village as the town was too small to have its own inn.

After dinner would spend some time reading out loud to Crowley. Aziraphale had lamented the fact that Crowley had never heard of some of what he considered classics. Crowley didn’t mind when it meant that Aziraphale’s soothing voice would lull him into a content state with its steady cadence.

The hardest part of their routine to get used to was the nights. On the third evening since Crowley had become Airaphale’s familiar he had been preparing to find a questionably warm spot to sleep in the basket his witch had made for him. Instead, Aziraphale had grabbed his coiled loops and carried him upstairs with him. It had been the first time Crowley had seen the upper part of the flat, and he was unsurprised as to how cozy it was. The hallway lead to both a bedroom and a bathroom. Aziraphale had brought him into the bedroom and placed him on the predictably tartan bedcovers.

“Stay here a moment, won’t you my dear?” he said before leaving a confused snake on his bed. Minutes later Aziraphale returned dressed for sleep.

_What are you doing?_

“Well my dear,” Aziraphale said as he turned down the covers, “I thought that it might be easier for you to regulate your heat if you had a warm body to borrow from.”

_You want me to sleep in your bed? With you?_ Crowley had not seen this coming. _Moving a bit fast aren’t you, angel?_

“Don’t be so silly Crowley. You’re cold blooded. I’m not. It’s either this or I purchase you a heat lamp and a terrarium. What’s it going to be?”

_You know you can be a bit of a bastard sometimes,_ Crowley groused. _But if you insist, I’ll sleep with you._

Aziraphale blushed, “You rascally serpent, don’t say it like that!”

Despite his teasing of Aziraphale, Crowley had tried to curl up as far away from his witch as possible on top of the covers. Aziraphale huffed before pulling the snake towards him, curling around his coiled form, one hand resting on his back. Crowley did not sleep at all that night, staring at the relaxed form of his human, listening to his gentle breaths.

He didn’t sleep the next night either.

By the third night he had stopped objecting and simply moved under the bedsheets of his on volition, draping himself over Aziraphale’s warm chest. He fell asleep that night with his head resting on Aziraphale’s chest, the human’s heartbeat steadily thrumming through his skull. He awoke to Aziraphale running his hand over his body.

“That wasn’t too bad, was It my dear?”

Unwilling to admit defeat, Crowley simply said, _I’ve slept in worse places._

Aziraphale’s smile was so tender Crowley was worried he’d melt. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley would have a conniption if he ever admitted how nice it was to have him there.

But it was nice. It was going so well. Crowley was adapting to life with Aziraphale, Aziraphale was adapting to life with Crowley, and no one (that Crowley was aware of) was freaking out about the presence of a demon running, or in this case, slithering around the village. Which was why as soon as Crowley had that thought he immediately regretted it. Now something was bound to go wrong.

.....

Newt had been in Tadfield for three days. Three days of so called ‘surveillance’ where he was convinced, and rightly so, that the villagers were surveying him just as much as he was them. The room he was renting above the pub was hosted by a woman named Mary, who had been happy to share town gossip with him so long as he had given her something to share with the town. Newt had been forced to come up with a story on the spot, a hopefully convincing fabrication about how his mother was thinking about moving there from Surrey, and that he had come to check out where she would be living on his vacation. Mary in turn had told him all sorts of insightful, if somewhat opinionated, stories about the townsfolk she interacted with on a daily basis. Most of it had been useless, but there were a few leads he was trying to follow up on.

Currently Newt was sitting by the window of a small café, directly across the street from an old bookshop. The person he was currently investigating was the bookshop owner. Mary had told him, in twice as many words, that he had been a member of the town for some years now, but hardly interacted with most of the community. Newt had originally gone into the shop to snoop directly but had immediately turned pale and fled the moment his eyes set sight on the giant black snake that had been curled up on the front desk. Newt may not have ever seen a witch in person, but giant snakes were suspicious no matter the circumstances.

Newt took a sip of his coffee and glanced down at the book he was pretending to be reading before returning his gaze to the bookshop. The owner, Mr. Fell, had opened it barely an hour earlier, which was to say was later in the day than Newt expected most shops were opened, and he seemed to keep random hours of business. In the time that Newt had been watching, the store had yet to be opened up at the same time in the morning.

Across the street, a young woman exited the bookshop and glanced around. For a heart stopping second Newt thought she looked right at him, but a moment later she took off down the street. Newt let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He pretended to read his book some more.

Barely five minutes later he was startled out of his street watching by the chair across the table from him screeching as someone dragged it across the ground and sat down.

“What do you think you’re doing?” hissed the young, surprisingly American, woman from earlier, glaring harshly at Newt through round-rimmed glasses.

“I, uh, what?” he said eloquently.

“Why are you spying on Aziraphale?” asked Anathema Device, for of course that’s who it was.

“I’m sorry, who?” Newt was visually panicking.

“Aziraphale. My friend,” she said nodding her head towards the bookshop across the way.

“I’m, er, I mean,” he started before being interrupted again.

“Did you think you were being stealthy? Because I asked the townsfolk if they had seen anything suspicious and literally all of them mentioned you.” Well, three of them had also told Anathema that she was acting suspicious by asking around, but she was ignoring that detail.

“Well I thought I was,” Newt was beginning to think that subtle investigation was not one of his strong suits.

“Well, what are you doing then? And don’t feed me the same crap you fed Mary down at the pub!”

Newt ran his hands over his face, pushing his glasses up to rub his eyes. “Do you promise not to laugh?”

“No guarantees.”

Newt looked around to see if any of the other patrons were within eavesdropping distance before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “My boss sent me here to investigate reports of witches.”

Anathema snorted, but then sobered. People investigating witches had never ended well for witches in the past. It could be dangerous for the whole community.

“I know it sounds daft, and I don’t believe him, but I have nothing better to do. I’m just doing this to pass time until I can get a new job,” Newt said, trying to garner some sympathy from the woman in front of him, “I’m just a computer engineer.”

“But for now you’re investigating Aziraphale for witchcraft?” Anathema could believe why someone would target the eccentric book keeper.

“Well, yes. Have you seen that snake?”

Anathema really laughed at that. “Oh, you mean Crowley? He’s a sweetheart. Wouldn’t hurt anyone unless provoked. Aziraphale found him the other day in his garden and he’s been helping him recover from some burn wounds.”

Newt stared at her. “So he’s just a normal snake? Are you absolutely sure about that?”

“As far as I’m aware.” She didn’t mention his status as a familiar for blatantly obvious reasons. “What kind of boss sends their underlings to go and investigate witches? I thought you said you were a computer engineer.”

“Oh. Well actually,” Newt tried to find something else, anything else to say than the truth, when he glanced outside and saw something odd that thoroughly distracted him. “Hang on, who is that?”

“Don’t change the subject – wait. Who _is_ that?” Witchfinder and witch both turned to watch the curious individual stride up the bookshop door, and pausing only momentarily to look at something, go inside.

.....

Crowley had a foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was off. Something vaguely demonic. The tinkling of the bell on the shop door had him perking up. From the back room Aziraphale called “Coming, coming!”

Crowley felt the bottom of his stomach drop out as he watched the diminutive figure stalk towards him.

_Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit._

“Hello Crowley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Have a spooky cliffhanger!  
Let me know if you see any spooky typos/ freaky grammar/ sinister sentences that don't make sense, I still don't have a beta.


	10. Chapter 10

“Hello Crowley. Or have you changed it again?”

This was it. The other shoe had dropped. Crowley’s happy little life he had been settling into was over before it could even get going.

_Beelzebub. What a pleasant surprise._ And by pleasant he meant horrible. No one likes a surprise visit from their boss, especially when they’re slacking off. Beelzebub was a prince of hell, right hand to the big man downstairs himself. Crowley was by no means a young demon, but they were one of the first.

Beelzebub smiled. It wasn’t altogether very pleasant, but to be fair it was much nicer when they were in a human corporation than their true demonic form. Their current body was fairly androgynous, and they had even managed to dress in modern human clothes, a dark suit with a red tie and a large fly-shaped pin on one of the lapels.

“Yes well, you didn’t return after you got summoned a while back. Our mutual boss wanted someone to go check on you. I volunteered. Congratulations on the condemned souls by the way. The one you sent ahead is going to make a great demon.”

_Ngk,_ Crowley managed before Aziraphale entered the room.

“Did they leave – oh!” Aziraphale glanced between his alert and incredibly tense familiar and the stranger in his shop. “Can I help you? he asked as politely, if somewhat tersely. He didn’t recognize them, but seeing that Crowley hadn’t immediately scared them off, they were either very serious about their reading material or were a witch and could sense his familiar for what he was. Aziraphale put his hand on the desk next to Crowley in an attempt to sooth his agitated familiar. Crowley shifted his body so that he was pressed against Aziraphale’s arm. The customer tracked the movement with their eyes before piercing Aziraphale with their icy blue gaze.

“This is an Antiquarian bookshop, yes? Do you have a copy of the _Daemonium Compendium_?” They asked with a straight face.

Aziraphale spluttered. Definitely a witch if they knew about that book. Or perhaps one of the more religiously eccentric human types. “Even if I did have a copy of the _Compendium,_ that is a very dangerous book. It would most certainly not be for sale, or available for perusal by the general public.”

The customer waved their hand as if brushing off Aziraphale’s words. “I’m not looking to summon. I just want information on the exorcism of demons. How to get rid of one if they’re causing trouble,” they said pointedly. Aziraphale might not be aware, but Crowley could hear the underlying threat in Beelzebub’s words.

“Ah. In that case I might be able to help.” Aziraphale looked at the stranger over the rims of his reading glasses.

“Excellent. Why don’t you go into your back room and see what you could do for me? The original Latin is fine.” Through his connection with Aziraphale, Crowley could feel the influential power the other demon had laced into their words. Aziraphale managed to waver for a moment. He leaned close to Crowley’s head.

“Watch them for me my dear. I don’t quite trust them,” he whispered before turning unsteadily and heading into the back.

As soon as he was gone Beelzebub raised their brows. “That’s a strong one. He almost resisted that temptation.”

Crowley let out an open-mouthed hiss and lifted as much of his body off the desk as he could afford to without falling over.

“Look at you. All defensive. You aren’t actually bound to this,” they waved their hands along Crowley’s length, “form, are you?”

Crowley continued to hiss, but also squirmed a bit.

“You are!” Beelzebub let out a huff that almost sounded like a laugh, “Oh, they are going to love this back in the office. Good thing I’m here to bring you back now. I wouldn’t want to give this pleasure to someone else.”

Oh no. Crowley took a fortifying breath. _I can’t leave._

“What? Why not?” Beelzebub looked about ready to grab him and drag him back to hell no matter what he said. Crowley had to act fast.

_I’m bound to this human._

“This was the other summoner who survived?” Beelzebub sounded incredulous.

_Er, yes?_

“Not what I expected at all,” they muttered, “Well, their soul is already condemned, so you being bound isn’t a real problem. If you want, I could speed up the process, get you out of here sooner.” It was a very casual tone to be using to talk about murder, but then again most demons had no qualms about destroying lives.

A chill ran up Crowley’s spine. _No, that won’t be necessary. I can wait it out?_ he tried.

“Are you sure? It wouldn’t be too difficult. An old building like this is just asking to catch fire. If you stay, you’ll be stuck here until he dies naturally. How long would that be, five years? Five hundred? I can never keep track of human lifespans.” It was true. Time moved differently in hell, and Beelzebub hadn’t been human in a very long time. “Then again if you stay here you can keep causing low level destruction, even if you’re bound to this form.” The amount of distain they were able to convey was commendable.

Crowley didn’t dare to feel hopeful but was determined when he said _I’ll stay._

Beelzebub grinned. “Suit yourself. Here, have a little power. Just enough for a few minor miracles or one major one.” They leaned forward and tapped a finger on Crowley’s head, an uncomfortable tingle of demonic energy flowed into Crowley’s body.

“I might even be persuaded to make your life a little easier.”

_You don’t have to. Really you don’t. _

“Well maybe I’d like to. It’s not often I get to visit earth and make wreak destruction,” they looked back towards the workshop, “Oh look. Here comes your little pet now.”

Crowley swiveled backwards to watch Aziraphale reenter the room in a daze, a few sheets of paper clutched in one hand. “I happened to have a copy of the original Latin. Information on how to exorcise a bound demon –”

Beelzebub shook their head. “I have no need for it anymore. You can keep it. It might come in handy. Good day.” They winked at Crowley before wheeling around and marching out the front door.

Aziraphale immediately snapped out of his daze.

“What on earth?” he shook his head, “Crowley, did they try anything while I was gone?”

_No, they just sort of stood there._ The lie tasted terrible in the back of Crowley’s mouth, which was surprising since snakes do not have a refined sense of taste.

“I don’t like it. They had a very off-putting aura about them. Let’s hope that they don’t try to come back.” He glanced down at the papers he was holding before placing them face down on the desk.

At that moment the front door banged open and a flurry of movement spilled into the shop.

“Aziraphale!” Anathema called out from the floor, pulling herself up and abandoning the young man sprawled out on the floor behind her, “Are you alright? Who was that person? I didn’t like the look about them. What did they want? Did they threaten you?”

Alarmed, Aziraphale shared a look with Crowley. “Were you spying on the bookshop? Never mind that, we’re alright. It was just a rather odd encounter. They wanted information on demons, but as soon as I brought it out, they said they didn’t need it anymore and left.”

Anathema blinked at that. “They wanted information on demons? What type of informa –”

“What do you mean demons?” Piped in a new voice. The young man who had followed Anathema in had gotten up and joined the group standing around the desk. He gave Crowley a wary look.

“Anathema my dear girl, who is your friend?” Aziraphale peered at him. He looked vaguely familiar. Was he one of the customers Crowley had scared off the other day?

“Oh. This is, um…” Anathema trailed off, looking at her companion.

“Newton. Just Newt is fine, really,” Said Newt.

“… Newt,” Anathema finished, “We just met in the café across the street.”

“Oh! They make such wonderful croissants there, don’t you think?”

“I guess so,” said Anathema uncertainly. 

Newt felt as though the conversation was getting sidetracked, especially if it had started with demons and had moved on to croissants. He decided to go for a direct approach. “Are you a witch? With, you know,” he paused to lean in, “magic?”

Aziraphale glanced sharply at Anathema.

“He’s from out of town?” she offered.

Aziraphale looked Newt over. “Well I do know some magic. Would you like to see?”

_What?_

“_What?_” Shrieked Anathema.

Newt looked dumfounded. “Er, sure, I guess.”

_Angel, what are you doing? This kid clearly isn’t a witch!_

Aziraphale grinned, “Watch this, my dear friends,” and deftly pulled a coin out of his pocket. He held it up for all to see before closing his fist around it and passing it to his other hand. He then opened both hands to reveal that the coin had disappeared, only for it to be followed by the sound of something small falling to the ground.

_Are you kidding me angel? _

“I used to be able to do that one perfectly,” Aziraphale muttered, bending down to retrieve the coin. Anathema covered a laugh at the expression on Newt’s face.

“I honestly didn’t quite know what I expected there,” Newt said.

“Ah-ha!” Aziraphale exclaimed triumphantly returning with the coin before successfully making it disappear and pretending to bring it back by pulling it out from behind Crowley’s unamused head. “It was behind his ear this whole time!”

“Snakes don’t have ears,” said an incredulous Newt while Anathema failed to hide her peal of laughter. Crowley had never wished he had his humanoid body more than that exact moment. He very much wanted to roll his currently incapable of doing so snake eyes at his witch. Instead, with an audible huff that made Newt jump he turned his backs on the proceedings.

“Oh, don’t be like that Cowley, it was just a bit of fun,” Aziraphale said with a pout.

_Fun? It’s humiliating. You can do proper magic angel, and this is what you consider fun?_

Before Aziraphale could respond to that he felt his head shaking. No, not just his head. The whole shop was shaking. Newt let out a shriek and ducked and covered his head while Anathema reached out and grabbed the desk to steady herself. Aziraphale quickly moved to brace his arms around his familiar who was losing traction and sliding off the desk.

Books were rattling in their selves, and they could hear the faint sounds of people yelling on the streets outside. As suddenly as it had started the shaking ceased, leaving an eerie silence.

_What the heaven was that?_ Crowley exclaimed to Aziraphale’s ears only.

“An earthquake? In Tadfield?” Anathema looked around. “That _was_ an earthquake, right?”

“I’d guess so,” said Newt, getting unsteadily to his feet.

“The books! Oh, are they all alright?” Aziraphale took off, quickly running a loop around his bookshop and then pausing to look in his back room. He let out a sigh of relief. “They look to be fine. What a miracle!”

Crowley subtly tucked his nose underneath his tail. It may have been a small miracle. Then again, the quake itself had demonic fingerprints all over it, even if he couldn’t tell what exactly the main target had been.

Anathema moved to the window. She could see broken glass lining the street and at least one lamppost that had fallen over. “I need to go check to see if my cottage is okay,” she said faintly. Or rather, she needed to go check on a certain book in her cottage. Danger, it seemed had arrived.

“Be safe, my dear girl, I’m sure the whole village is in a panic,” Aziraphale cautioned as he pulled Crowley into his arms. His familiar wrapped his tail tightly around one of the witch’s hands.

Anathema left without a backwards glance. Newt looked around to find himself alone with the bookseller and the snake. “I should, um, yeah,” he stumbled over his words before quickly following Anathema out of the shop.

“What a strange young man,” said Aziraphale, watching the pair of them leave.

_I’ll say. He had quite the curse on him too._

“Oh really?”

_Yeah, I could see it written all over his being, clear as day. No idea what it does, though. _

“How odd! I think I’ll need a cup of cocoa to settle down. What do you say to closing the shop early today?”

Wordlessly, Crowley squeezed the witch’s hand with his tail and Aziraphale took that as a yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that this makes up for the cliffhanger in the last chapter, I tried to write Beelzebub to the best of my abilities, not sure I got them as well as I would have liked. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get a chapter out tomorrow, I do tend to get busy on the weekends, but I will definitely try. Things are about to get even more interesting, I can promise that!


	11. Chapter 11

It quickly became apparent what the true target of Beelzebub’s demonic earthquake had been. News travels fast in small communities, and it was less than an hour after it happened that someone had run into the bookshop to let them know. The old church at the edge of Tadfield was nothing more than rubble, the old stone crumbling like paper beneath the will of a demon prince. Fortunately, no one had been hurt in its collapse, but quite a few people were upset at the loss of the historic building.

Crowley did not want to admit his relief that any holy threats to his infernal person would be harder to come by. No fresh source of holy water helped any demon feel more secure, and he was no exception.

Aziraphale on the other hand mourned the loss of the building’s scripture. “The loss of any book is a thing to mourn Crowley. You should be sad too!”

_You have a whole shelf full of Bibles in your front room angel_.

“That is different, and you know it! My Bibles are all unique misprints.” The witch had proceeded to pout and ignore his familiar for the rest of the day until night fell, and then he had clutched the snake tightly to himself in bed.

.....

Newt was back to square one. His main suspect turned out to be just a very eccentric bookshop owner. With a massive snake. But there was still something off about this town, and the witchfinder private wasn’t about to give up until the mystery was solved. And he thought he had a new place to start. The American woman, Anathema he thought the bookseller had called her, she _had_ acted a bit odd about his investigations. Maybe she was a witch. Or some other type of curious witchlike being. A sorceress? He didn’t know. He just didn’t want to have to ask her about her nipples.

.....

Anathema was in full research mode. After learning of the church’s collapse, she had been able to find Agnes’s next prophecy. _God’s house shalle dowen, and angel blud shalle spring forth to cause harme. Innosent will be accused, and one shalle fall_.

God’s house had to be a church, all of her ancestors had agreed about that in their notes on the notecard, and Tadfield’s old church _had_ fallen. And with an unknown demon still running around it wouldn’t be out of the question for it to cause someone to fall. The only question really left unanswered was what Agnes meant about angel blood. Angels didn’t bleed as far as Anathema was aware. In fact, angels nearly never came to earth. Angels were beings of creation, invoked in a witch’s spell to help craft and protect. And while it was possible for a witch to ascend, it also meant they had to die. It was so much easier for a witch to fall; demons were actually summonable, and physical interactions with them were recorded far more often than brushes with their ethereal counterparts.

At the end of the day she just didn’t have enough information about angels to understand what Agnes was trying to tell her. Hence the research.

Letting out an annoyed huff, she closed the tenth crack website on people claiming to have interacted with holy beings. The problem with the internet was that all real magical information was mixed in with useless nonsense that other people came up with. If only the magical community was more open to joining the technological era as she was. There were still some witches who used parchment and quills for crying out loud!

But maybe some answers could be found closer to home.

Anathema stood up and hesitated for a moment before replacing Agnes’s book in its warded container. She wasn’t about to risk losing it now. Besides, she knew the prophecy by heart after staring at it for almost a whole day. She left Jasmine Cottage at a quick pace, not even stopping to wave back at the Them as they called out after her.

“She must be up to something important. You don’t think it still has to do with that thing we found earlier, do you?” asked Brian.

“I sure hope not. That would mean it was something super serious, and we should have told someone else in the village too,” said Adam, patting Dog’s head.

.....

Aziraphale had been making a cup of tea in the back when he not so much heard but felt Crowley call out to him. He put down the kettle he was about to pour and rushed out to the front to see what had his familiar in distress.

_She just came running in here like the forces of hell were on her tail. Not sure what’s up with her,_ Crowley looked at him from his perch on one of the bookshelves. Aziraphale spared him a glance before taking in Anathema’s panting form.

“Are you alright my dear girl? What’s got you in such a state?”

Anathema brushed some stray hairs out of her face. “I need your help with some obscure information.”

Aziraphale blinked at her. “Is this about the curse on your friend Newt? Because I’ve been trying to look into it, but I still have no clue as to who put it on him or what it does.”

Anathema paused, sidetracked. “What curse?”

“The one on your young man, Newt, right? Crowley said he could sense a curse of some sort on him, I assumed that’s why you were trying to help him.”

_Crowley_ said? That couldn’t be right. Perhaps she misheard him. “I uh, no! I barely know him, I didn’t know anything about a curse! That’s besides the point. No, I need to know if you have any information on angels.”

Aziraphale froze. “Angels? Why do you need to know about angels?”

Crowley could sense waves of nervous energy flowing off his witch. He pressed his nose into the man’s side. _‘Ziraphale,_ he said, ignoring the tingle that accompanied the holy name, _are you alright?_ Instead of answering, the witch pulled his familiar into his arms and started rubbing along his belly scales as though they were a worry stone.

“It’s important Aziraphale. Please.” Anathema begged.

“I’m sorry, my dear girl, I’m going to need more than just that. Knowledge of angels always comes with a price.”

Anathema gaped at him in shock. He had never given her such a response before when she asked about magical information. “I’m not sure I can tell you why,” she whispered, “but it could be life and death.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Aziraphale turned around and started heading for the back.

Crowley was uncomfortable. He could almost taste how upset his witch was, and in turn it was making him upset too. He turned to glare to the best of his abilities at Anathema for putting his friend into this state.

Anathema hesitated for a moment longer before calling out. “It has to do with a prophecy!”

Aziraphale paused, “My dear girl, you of all people should know that most prophecies are fake.”

Anathema steeled herself. “This one isn’t. It was written by the last true prophet in all of England.”

“Agnes Nutter,” Aziraphale whispered so softly Crowley barely heard it over the sound of Aziraphale’s beating heart.

“My ancestress left behind a book of prophecy for her descendants to follow, to help us navigate the future, and one of them is coming true right now.” Anathema was beginning to get desperate. She was willing to bring her most prized possession to someone else’s attention.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to hear a word she said. “You own a copy of _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter_? Why didn’t you tell me? I thought all the copies were burnt?”

‘You know of Agnes’s book?” Anathema was more surprised than she was willing to let on.

“How could I not? I have several books of prophecy, but none of them are true in the way that Agnes’s were rumored to be.”

“Look, I’ll let you look at the book if you help me figure out this prophecy now before the danger it alludes to happens.”

Aziraphale held still for a few second, thinking it over. Crowley could practically hear the gears turning in his head. He straightened up. “I’ll see what I can do. Tell me your prophecy.”

Anathema took a deep, fortifying breath. “There are two. The first warned of danger to come. The second was ‘God’s house shalle dowen, and angel blud shalle spring forth to cause ye harme. Innosent will be accused, and one shalle fall.’”

Aziraphale blinked. “That’s all rather foreboding. I’m assuming God’s house is referring to the church?”

“Yes, that’s what I thought too. But there’s more than just the prophecies. I have reason to believe that there is a demon roaming around Tadfield.”

Crowley almost fell out of Aziraphale’s arms.

“What? Aziraphale almost squawked, “That’s not something to say lightly, my dear girl. Do you have evidence?”

“Not anymore. There was a broken summoning circle behind the church, but I did my best to deactivate it. I hoped that would be enough to return it to hell, but then the church collapsed. It had to be the handywork of the demon, it would only make sense. Without the church there would be no major source of holy energy to harm it.”

“A demon in Tadfield,” Aziraphale muttered, “I can’t even begin to imagine all the danger the village is in. Shouldn’t you inform the town?”

“I thought about it. I think it will cause a mass panic. That would leave us in a worse place.”

“Yes, well, maybe the less they know the better.” Aziraphale said thoughtfully.

“The only part that I don’t understand is the bit about angel’s blood,” Anathema said while twisting a lock of her hair, “I was hoping you might have a book that mentions it.”

Aziraphale frowned in thought. “I’m not sure I know what that might be referring to, but I have a book on the known angels and their histories. I could lend it to you to see if that helps. In the meantime, I can see if any of my other texts mentions it. I don’t happen to have very many books on angels, but I can do my best.”

“Oh, thank you Aziraphale!” Anathema threw her arms around the other witch, trapping an indigent Crowley between them.

The serpent wished he could warn the two witches that they had nothing to worry about from the demon, that he was more concerned with preventing his witch from becoming corrupted than causing large-scale destruction. But that would be impossible, he would have to admit to being a demon, and if he did that there was no way that he would be allowed to remain on earth. After all, who had ever heard of a demon who didn’t want to destroy everything it came into contact with?

Aziraphale gently placed Crowley on the ground and went to retrieve the promised book. Passing it to Anathema he said quietly, “I promise my dear girl, we will figure this out. Together.” Reaching down and running a hand over Crowley’s lifted head before stroking his jaw. “We can find a way to help the town, no matter what.”

Anathema nodded. “Right, I guess that means I’m off. Good luck, Aziraphale.”

“Good luck my dear girl,” he called to her retreating back. “Right,” he scooped Crowley up again and left for the back room, “Let us see what we can’t discover. We can stop this demon before it can cause any more harm.”

_Right_ Crowley said hollowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy we're moving into the endgame now. Trouble that was brewing in the background is gonna come out in the next chapter. Let me know what you think!  
Again, I'm not sure if I'll be able to get a new chapter out tomorrow, so sit tight!


	12. Chapter 12

Aziraphale had closed the shop yesterday after Anathema had left, firmly locking the door. He hadn’t opened it since. Crowley had spent the greater portion of yesterday afternoon slithering restlessly around Aziraphale as he sat in the workroom, going from book to book with a methodical persistence that was to be admired, if it wasn’t about trying to stop a threat that wasn’t there.

The problem was that as long as the prophecy was real, and Aziraphale had ensured him that Agnes Nutter was the real deal, there _was_ a very real threat coming from somewhere. And Crowley didn’t know where that could be coming from. It was aggravating in a way that couldn’t be helped, unless he wanted to scar his witch for life. No one wants to know that they have bound themselves to a demon, the risk of corruption would be too great to ignore. Aziraphale would be forced into a situation where he would have to break the bond, something Crowley would like to avoid at all costs. It would be painful to both parties, yes, but more importantly with nothing tying him to this plane he would have to return to hell, leaving his witch behind. And Crowley knows he makes Aziraphale happy. He can feel it in the way that the witch cares for him, helping to put ointment on his near healed injuries, holding him close for comfort at night. His witch cares so much about everything, he can’t bear to see his trust broken.

It had taken a considerable effort to pull Aziraphale away from his work to eat some dinner, and even more to convince him to go to bed.

_You’ll be no good if you’re too tired to see straight, angel. You need to sleep._

“In a bit my dear. I’ve almost figured this out.”

_You can finish in the morning. Please come to bed_. Aziraphale had looked up then and wordlessly scooped the serpent up to finally get some rest. The witch’s head had barely hit the pillow before he had fallen asleep, but Crowley couldn’t follow him. He spent the night watching over the other’s sleeping figure.

Crowley was afraid that Aziraphale would spend the next day in the same fashion as the day before, and it seemed like that might be the case. He was still pouring over ancient tomes and cross-referencing them with several even older scrolls. Crowley was resigning himself to playing caretaker for his witch when something changed. It wasn’t immediately evident to the snake, but Aziraphale had sat up straight and appeared to be listening.

“I don’t believe it!” Aziraphale turned to look wide-eyed at his familiar, “Someone is trying to break in!” Aziraphale pushed himself out of his seat and started running towards the front of the shop. Before he could make it through the doorway Crowley heard a magical shattering sound and felt the wind like rush of power accompanying the breaking of several wards. Aziraphale threw up an arm to block the pushback of power, but it was still strong enough to send Crowley a few inches across the smooth floor and set the potion racks rattling.

Aziraphale marched through the doorway into the main shop, Crowley hot on his heels. “What on earth do you think you’re doing –” his shouting was interrupted by a gasp.

Crowley, cursing, not for the first time, at his lack of height in his current form quickly wound his way up on top of the front desk to see what had managed to break his witch’s wards and invade his property.

It wasn’t what he expected. Just inside the shop were four people, two men and two women, dressed in suits of various shades of grey, tan, and even white. Crowley thought they looked very pretentious in the way they stood together, making a solid show of strength as they stepped further into the shop.

“You,” Aziraphale said weakly, “Get out of my home.”

“Oh Aziraphale,” said one of the men, vibrantly violet eyes pinning Aziraphale in place, stepped ahead of his cohorts, “That’s no way to treat your family.”

Aziraphale was trembling. It took Crowley less than a second to sense the anger building up around him. “You are not my family.”

“That hurts, sunshine.”

“Cuts us to the bone,” said the second man, larger and balding.

“Why are you here? After all this time?” Aziraphale’s hands wouldn’t sit still. They kept moving to fiddle with his coat’s hem, to clasp in front of him, to dangle limply at his sides.

“Someone gave us a tip-off of some interesting information. We’re here on family business.” The woman with her hair piled above her head spoke and moved forward towards Aziraphale and Crowley while the other, darker skinned woman started to move through the stacks, snooping around. Aziraphale held up a hand to stop her advance.

“Why are you here in my bookshop? Forcing the lock on my front door? Breaking my _wards_?” Aziraphale’s voice was rising with each word and Crowley didn’t like any of it. Family or not these invaders were upsetting his witch. Crowley let the anger surge through him and did his best impression of a terrifying serpent.

Crowley lifted the front half of his body up and opened his mouth to allow unrestricted airflow through his glottis. Not only did this make his hiss loud enough to reverberate throughout the bookshop, but it had the benefit of drawing the attention of all the humans in the room to him, and more importantly his fangs. Crowley hadn’t bit anyone in millennia, but to protect Aziraphale he was more than willing.

As soon as all human eyes were on him, he puffed up, letting the loose skin along his head and body flatten out, making him look almost twice his already considerable size. Each breath in and out was producing an increasingly louder hiss and to top it all off, the tip of his tail was vibrating in anger.

“What the hell is _that_!” Exclaimed the violet eyed man.

Aziraphale looked proud. “Crowley,” he said, approaching the desk to stand next to him, “is my familiar.”

“Unbelievable,” muttered the violet eyed man.

“You’d choose to find power with an animal rather than your family?” The dark-skinned woman was much closer now. Crowley spun to face her, causing her to draw back a bit.

“Crowley is my friend,” the stress on the final word warmed Crowley’s heart. He paused in his hissing to take in his witch’s adoring look, “What would you know about friends, Gabriel?” Crowley recoiled at the holy name.

Gabriel sneered but before he could say anything the other woman interrupted him, moving forward and placing a hand on Aziraphale’s arm. “Aziraphale, we’re not here to start a fight. We were hoping you could lend us some of uncle Azrael’s books. It would be ever so helpful in our endeavors.”

“Absolutely not!” He shook her off and Crowley turned his yellow stare towards her, “Those books were left to me and are my responsibility. I refuse to let them fall into the hands of someone I don’t trust to be responsible with the information in them!”

There was a slight shuffling sound behind Crowley. He wheeled around and let out a faux lunge at the dark woman who jumped back from the desk before joining her cohorts on the other side.

Aziraphale glowered at her. “Stay away from him Uriel, if you know what’s best for you.” Another holy name that itched under Crowley’s scales.

The other woman spoke again, “We _are_ your family Aziraphale, whether you disown us or not. You can always trust us.”

“Michael is right," said Gabriel, Crowley giving another hiss, “This would be for the good of your town, for you. There’s a demon running free. It would be better for everyone if we could get a proper ritual to destroy it.”

Aziraphale puffed up at that. “I am well aware of the situation, and I would prefer if you were to leave. I can handle this on my own.”

“You’re already aware of the demon?” Gabriel sounded genuinely surprised. “You weren’t the one to summon it, were you?” The way he quirked his lips in accusation put Crowley on edge. The serpent moved within striking range and the man gave him a disdainful look as he wisely chose to back away.

“It doesn’t really matter,” said the balding man, “We do have other means to deal with demons. We just would have been ever so pleased to have you joining us again, Aziraphale.”

“Don’t think I don’t know how cruel your means can be Sandalphon.” Another holy name. Crowley was beginning to see a bigger picture here, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was yet. “If I find out that a single one of these innocent villagers are caught in the crossfire of your crusade you will have me to answer to!”

The four looked at each other and laughed.

“Aziraphale, you wouldn’t be able to do anything,” Gabriel said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eyes, “You were raised to be our librarian, not a fighter.”

The witch’s eyes flared with anger and he whispered a word of summoning. Crowley felt it resonate within his being, pulling at his very essence. A magical shortsword appeared in Aziraphale’s hand, and after a brief moment the blade ignited in what Crowley recognized to be holy fire. Aziraphale managed to hide his startled look well from most of the onlookers before brandishing the blade at the intruders.

As clearly as he could, Aziraphale called out to the others, “You are all trespassing on my property. If you do not leave this instant, I will remove you by force.”

They exchanged glances.

Gabriel began, “If you won’t help us –”

“I won’t.”

“Then there is nothing more that we can do here. Goodbye Aziraphale.”

Without further ado, Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon turned tail and left the bookshop.

_Aziraphale?_

The witch let out a shaky breath before falling to his knees, dropping the sword in the process. It disappeared, flames and all, before hitting the ground.

_Aziraphale, are you alright?_

He let out a sob, covering his face with his hands. “Angel blood shall spring forth to cause you harm. Oh, how could I be so blind. I understand it now. It’s not about the angel blood, it’s about the blood of angels.”

Crowley nosed at his witch’s hands. _You’re not making any sense._

“The demon is not the real danger here. They are. They’ll stop at nothing to destroy it. They see it as their duty, the blood of angles.”

_What do you mean?_

“They are descendants of angels. We all are.”

.....

“That was a waste of time,” Gabriel growled as he stalked down the streets of Tadfield. “He wasn’t even willing to consider helping.”

“We should have realized how far he’s fallen,” said Michael, “I doubt that there is anything we can do to save him now.”

“I wouldn’t call it a complete waste of time,” said Uriel, stopping in her spot and causing the other three to turn to face her.

“Oh yes? And what good possibly came out of that,” Sandalphon sounded disinterested.

“We got something we could use from him.” She pulled out a few sheets of paper, Latin print clearly written in Aziraphale’s handwriting. The others paused to read it. Michael smiled.

“Well. That _is_ useful after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end. New information is about to come to light.
> 
> Interesting facts about snakes:  
Cobras are not the only species that hood up when angry or threatened, and it is very common for a snake to try to make itself look larger to scare off predators.  
Same with tail rattling. While of course Rattle snakes are the most famous of it, many other species will buzz their tails when upset. Since Crowley is no specific species of snake (although he resembles the Australian red-bellied black snake and the North American redbelly snake) I'm giving him traits that are from many different snake species.  
Just imagine him playing dead like a hognose snake when thoroughly terrified.


	13. Chapter 13

Crowley stared at Aziraphale as he slowly got up. The witch stumbled towards the front of the shop and threw the deadbolt. Moments later he whispered several ancient words of warding. Crowley shuddered as an Angel’s name was invoked.

_‘Ziraphale._ Crowley was following his witch as Aziraphale trundled slowly to the kitchen. _What do you mean, descendants of angels? Angel’s aren’t like humans. They don’t have children._

Aziraphale didn’t respond to his familiar. Instead he opened up a cabinet he hadn’t opened in a long while, definitely sometime before he met Crowley, and pulled out a bottle of red from a recessed wine rack. He grabbed a glass and filled it to the brim. A flick of Crowley’s tongue told him it was a good vintage. Aziraphale slumped down on one of the kitchen chairs, cradling his wine in one hand and his head in the other.

Crowley wasn’t willing to sit still without an explanation. He swiftly sprung up and into Aziraphale’s lap, coiling around his waist once as an anchor before moving his head to be mere inches from the witch’s closed eyes.

_Aziraphale._ The pain that had originally accompanied the holy name was all but gone, a distinctive tingle on the tip of his tongue, like a nearly forgotten spice from one’s childhood. _Angel. You need to tell me what’s going on._

Aziraphale cracked one of his blue eyes open to take in the yellow eyes of his distressed familiar. He sat up and pulled Crowley’s head away from his face. Upset at the manhandling, or more accurately, snakehandling, he watched balefully as the witch took a fortifying gulp of wine. He placed the glass down before reaching out to cup Crowley’s face with one hand, the other going down to hold his coils wrapped around his belly. It almost felt like he was cradling his familiar. Aziraphale pressed his forehead to the flat of Crowley’s head before moving back to look him in his eyes.

“Angels cannot have children after they are ascended. But Angels start out their lives as witches, and witches can have children.”

Crowley was confused. _But they aren’t really children of Angels, they’re the descendants of witches who died and became angels. It’s just like how children of people who became demons aren’t necessarily demons unless corrupted. They should just be ordinary witches._

Aziraphale adored his familiar. He was intelligent and had a sharp tongue; able to follow Aziraphale’s mental gymnastics and clever enough to respond with something that made sense. Looking at him now, so concerned and willing to hear him out, Aziraphale realized he had no choice but to open up and share everything he could. They were better together than apart.

“It didn’t matter if the children of angels were just ordinary witches or not. They thought they were better than normal witches, acted better than normal witches. They saw their forefathers ascend and thought that they would deserve to ascend too. So they grouped together. They formed a coven. And they raised their children in it. Preaching a divine plan that they said they were following, a path to heaven.”

_Your siblings aren’t really your siblings,_ Crowley said in realization, _They’re your brethren_, he paused, _You really _are _an angel then. You were raised as a part of this coven,_ Crowley looked to watch as his witch nodded mutely and took another sip of wine. _Did you even have a choice?_ He shook his head.

“The elders sought out families with ties to divinity. Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon, and I were all raised together to some extent. They hoped we would be the next generation of leaders for the coven. The goal was to combat evil wherever we saw it. Seek out witches misusing their powers and stop them. And above all else, fighting the forces of hell whenever and wherever they reared their heads.” Aziraphale closed his eyes before he could even finish the statement.

Crowley had never heard of a coven of perceived witch-messiahs interfering with the forces of hell. _Were they any good at that? Thwarting hell?_

Aziraphale snorted into his wine glass, reopening his eyes. “They would say they were, but I know for a fact that the coven was much better at destroying any apparent demonic interference than identifying it,” He sobered up for a moment, “As children we were trained to fight, to use rituals that could track dark magic.” He clenched his hand into a fist on the table. “To use holy weapons. When I showed interest in the collection of records in our manor my uncle Azrael took me under his wing. Took me away from the others and tried to impress that there were other types of strength in the world. When he died, he left his entire collection, the coven’s collective knowledge, to me. In his will he told me that the others were striking out at innocents who they perceived to be in cahoots with the devil. Their misguided righteousness was causing more harm than help. He told me to get as far away from the family as I could, so I did, taking the books and leaving Gabriel and Michael and the others behind.”

Something clicked in Crowley’s mind. _They gave you all holy names in hopes you might ascend_.

“I… yes. That’s my guess. That was every member’s second goal. To fight the forces of hell, and then to ascend upon death.” Aziraphale rubbed the stem of his wine glass between his finger and thumb.

_What a miserable existence_.

“Truly,” Aziraphale said sourly, “The family business paid well though. Other witches would pay us to deal with dark magic problems they didn’t want to deal with themselves. They had many resources. Money. Big ancestral home for the coven members. Transportation around the world, contacts on every continent.”

Aziraphale looked out past Crowley towards the front of the shop. “And now they’re here. Oh Lord, they’re the danger Agnes Nutter wanted to warn us about. They’ll go about accusing anyone they think even mildly suspicious, and who knows what they’ll do to them.”

Crowley nudged Aziraphale’s arm with his snout. _You stopped them from getting your books._

Aziraphale sighed, “That won’t stop them entirely though. Many of the basics we were all taught as children and there are other ways to find and stop a demon beyond an effective exorcism ritual. They could just destroy its mortal form, remove it from earth, or worse, torture anyone it came into contact with because they could be ‘corrupted’ too. We need to talk to Anathema. We need to come up with a plan.”

Crowley felt his entire form slink down, his heart dropping towards hell. He felt like he was about to do something foolish. He _was_ going to do something foolish. _What if the demon gave itself up?_

Aziraphale nearly spit out his mouthful of wine. “My dear boy, we don’t know where the demon is. We can’t just waltz up to it and ask it ‘dear creature of the abyss, would you be willing to give yourself up for an incredibly painful discorporation that may or may not even spare the people of this town from the wrath of some crusading demon hunters?’”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably. He really was going to go through with this. He moved himself just far enough away from his witch that he could run if he wanted to. He took a deep breath.

_I am the demon_.

Aziraphale’s lip twitched. “That’s not a very good joke, Crowley.”

_‘ss not supposed to be a joke. I _am_ the demon that was summoned over a week ago. I’m giving myself up._

“Crowley, please. This is serious!”

_And ssso am I!_ Crowley winced as his hiss came out in full force. _Look at me!_

Crowley backed even further away from his witch’s questing hands and let a frisson of demonic power flow out, igniting his length with hellfire.

Aziraphale let out a yelp and called upon a word of rain. A miniature cloud appeared above his familiar and started pouring a torrential rainfall down on him. It sizzled as it struck the flames, but the fire didn’t go out. The witch gawped at the serpent. Crowley hung his head and the flames finally died out. Raindrops fell on his scales and slid down to form a puddle underneath him.

_I am a demon,_ he whispered mournfully. Crowley ducked his head underneath one of his own coils. He couldn’t bare to see the betrayed look in his angel’s eyes.

Aziraphale hesitantly crept forward, before waving his hand through the cloud, dispersing the spell. He retreated from the table briefly to retrieve the tartan towel he had used to dry Crowley when he first gave him a bath, less than two weeks ago but still feeling like it had been an eternity since. As gently as he could he ran his hand over wet scales for a moment before taking a firmer grip and pulling Crowley onto the prepared towel, wrapping it around the ball of snake and pulling it close to his chest.

_What are you doing?_

“Taking care of you my dear.”

_But I’m a demon_.

“I am aware of that now, my dear, but you are also my familiar, and as such it is still my duty to take care of you. I have no idea if demons can get pneumonia, but nobody should have to stay wet for too long.”

A black head poked out from under the edge of the towel.

_But _I’m_ a _demon_! _

“You’ve done nothing wrong my dear.”

_You can’t sssay that! I’ve killed a man. I’ve damned two people sssince coming here!_ Crowley was getting more upset.

“Your summoners don’t count, they were damned the moment they decided to summon a demon to solve their problems,” Aziraphale said decisively.

_How do you know I haven’t damned you? You are bonded to a demon! A monssster!_

“You’re not a monster, you are a snake,” his breath hitched, “and whether you have corrupted me or not, you are my friend, I won’t abandon you.”

Snakes cannot cry. They don’t have the proper anatomy for tears to form. That didn’t stop Crowley from trying, and after staring dumbfounded at his witch for a few moments he buried his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder as he was wracked by shuddering sobs that left no real evidence of ever existing. Aziraphale cradled the serpent, curling up with him right there on the cold kitchen tile, a damp tartan towel discarded beneath them. He ran his hands along the snake’s body in an attempt to warm him, to comfort him, all while the snake continued to sob.

_I didn’t mean to fall. I didn’t. I don’t want you to fall, I can’t let you fall, won’t can’t don’t._

Aziraphale made a soft hushing noise. “I know my dear. I can tell. I won’t, I promise.”

Letting out a hiccupping sound, Crowley brought his face to Aziraphale’s, turning it sideways to match him. _You can’t guarantee that. _I _can’t guarantee that. No one but She can, and no one hasss heard from Her in millennia. _

“We mustn’t worry about that right now. It won’t help if you are constantly afraid of the future when it might not even come to pass.”

His witch clearly wasn’t thinking about the bigger picture here. _What about that Nutter woman’sss prophecy? One shall fall? I can’t allow that to be you._

“What if it’s literal," Aziraphale countered, “and someone falls physically? We won’t know for sure until it comes to pass.”

Crowley wasn’t satisfied. _What about the innocent accused portion of it? If I give myself up no one will be hurt._

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s jaw. “My dear, if you give yourself up, _I_ will be hurt.”

Crowley stared at him for a moment before moving to wrap as much of his angel up in his length as possible, an undeniable embrace.

Aziraphale clutched the demon’s head to his heart. “We can figure out a way to stop my siblings, one where you don’t have to sacrifice yourself and where no one will get hurt.” Crowley tightened his grip around the witch’s torso and shoulders. “Until then, I think we both need some rest. Come to bed with me?”

Crowley allowed himself to be carried up the stairs, swept away in some type of comfort he wasn’t sure he could name, somehow still in one piece despite trying to break down his barriers for his witch.

Aziraphale didn’t even bother pulling off his clothes. He simply fell into bed with his familiar laying over him as a second skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a doozy to write. Let me know if anything doesn't make sense, because while it all does in my head I have no beta to bounce it off of before posting.


	14. Chapter 14

When Aziraphale woke it was with the bleariness of someone who had not so much chosen to rest but had instead collapsed of exhaustion. Shifting slightly, he froze when he felt the gentle puffs of air and slow heartbeat on his chest. Glancing down he could see Crowley’s yellow eyes, pupils thin, dull with unconsciousness.

His familiar was a demon. A being he had been raised to seek out and destroy. A being whose sole existence was to bring destruction upon the world, upon all that had ever been created. A being that which half the people who ever come into contact with would find their souls corrupted and sequestered to the depths of hell.

A being who tried to give up his own safety as soon as he learned that a greater danger would come if he didn’t.

His familiar was a demon, but he was also Crowley, and Aziraphale felt he knew Crowley. The snake had slotted so well into his life, filling in the blank spaces that his isolated life in the bookshop made, providing the company Aziraphale craved and the companionship he thought he could never have again. Aziraphale could still picture Crowley’s face of wonder as he had first been introduced to his garden, the way he had proudly pointed out the plants that he had terrorized into growing better. For a creature of destruction, he was certainly capable of providing a glimmer of creation in that respect.

No, Crowley might be a demon, but he could also be capable of being nice, at least when Aziraphale was involved. And he was ever so good at chasing away unwanted customers.

Sitting up, Aziraphale held Crowley’s head to his chest before leaning down and placing a chaste kiss, more of a brush of his lips really, to the flat scales on the serpent’s head. When he pulled back, he could see the moment Crowley fully woke up. His familiar’s tail seized up around Aziraphale’s legs for a moment before he pulled it in towards himself.

_Please tell me you were too drunk to remember last night_, he asked plaintively.

“My dear, it would take much more than a single glass of wine to get me good and truly drunk,” Aziraphale said with a small smile.

_I was afraid so,_ said Crowley before he tried to swiftly exit the bed. He wasn’t fast enough, and Aziraphale managed to snag his tail and pull him back up the bed before coercing the snake to coil up on his pillow.

Crowley stuck his tongue out, long and slow so Aziraphale could see his displeasure. Aziraphale sighed, “My dear there is no running away now.”

_Never stopped me from trying in the past._

“Yes, but I won’t run away from this, and as my familiar I expect you to do the same.”

Crowley stared at him for a moment. _You really can be a bit of a bastard, sometimes._

Aziraphale grinned, “I’ve been told that before, but I never believed them.”

They sat in silence for a while, Aziraphale stroking Crowley’s smooth scales and Crowley occasionally moving to get Aziraphale to run his hands over a different section of his body. Eventually Aziraphale broke the silence.

“Will you tell me how you came to be here? The full story, my dear?”

Crowley turned his head around to face his witch. _From the beginning beginning or just from a few weeks ago?_

“All the way back, if you don’t mind.”

Crowley placed his head on Aziraphale’s thigh, looking up at him for almost a whole minute, during which Aziraphale kept his gaze locked on him in turn. Eventually Crowley huffed, and nuzzled his head against his witch’s thigh, before moving to drape a greater portion of his body over it, silently encouraging Aziraphale to keep running his hands over the scales.

_I fell a long time ago. Not quite as far back as the beginning of time itself, but from what I can figure it was close to four millennia ago. _

“_Millennia?_” Aziraphale was skeptical.

_Yes, millennia, as in four thousand years ago. Now hush, or I’ll stop talking._

Aziraphale waved for him to continue, returning his hands to his scales.

_Back when I was, well, human, I was a witch. Well, most demons were witches at some point, but that’s beside the point. I was hungry for magical knowledge. Not a lot of spell books back in the day, not that I had learned to read back then either, but you needed to find a teacher or you were out of luck. So, I sought out a teacher and begged to become their apprentice, surprised when they said yes._

_He wasn’t a very good teacher. He was so focused on his own magical research for the king, he neglected to do much teaching. In his search for power he started to dabble in blood rituals. _

Aziraphale paused in his ministrations to Crowley, and the serpent stopped to look at him.

_This was in the 2000s B.C. angel, we didn’t know how stupid we were being at the time. And you’ll think me very foolish indeed if you forget that fact,_ and oh, that didn’t make Aziraphale feel any better, but he started back up caressing Crowley’s back. The snake continued.

_The day of our fall my master commanded me to collect the blood of children for his ritual, ‘for their youthful pureness’. I couldn’t do it. Instead I gave him blood from recently slaughtered cattle. And some drops of my own to disguise that it was mostly not human blood. He performed the ritual. He even successfully summoned a demon, for all of three minutes before it brought the building down on us. My mortal body died, and my soul fell for having its blood involved in the ritual. Next thing I knew I was a fully-fledged demon, with the purpose to cause others to set up their own destruction. _

“That’s not a very pleasant purpose,” said Aziraphale.

_No, not really. I got summoned a lot in my early days, someone wrote my demonic name down somewhere and from then on I got to visit earth fairly frequently, maybe once every hundred years or so. I’ve only been Crowley for the past five hundred years._

“What was your name before?” Aziraphale was curious. Crowley’s name seemed to fit him so well.

_I’m not going to tell you. Nothing good ever came from it, and I much prefer what I have now. So much less squirming-at-your-feetish. Besides, it still has some power over me. Those two idiots used it to summon me. I had hoped that by changing my name it would lose its power, but obviously not._

Aziraphale hummed and moved to rub the loose skin by Crowley’s head.

_They almost managed to kill me, you know. Or my corporation at least. When the first one died the second one panicked and vial of holy water at me. It’s where all those burns came from._ Aziraphale ghosted a finger over one of said burn marks. The skin was healed over, but still pink, and the scales around it were still burned.

_When the circle was broken, I hightailed it out of there as fast as I could. Lo and behold, I ended up in your apple tree and you found me. _

“The fact that we met at all, it’s quite ineffable, don’t you think?”

_You could say that. I’m certainly having a hard time describing what meeting you has meant for me._

Aziraphale bundled up the coils of snake as best as he could and pulled him close to his chest. “I am ever so glad I did, my dear boy.” Aziraphale glanced out at the room around them. Sunlight was starting to pour in through the bedroom’s windows. “I think it is time that we face the day. We need to plan how to get rid of my siblings without them causing harm to the people of Tadfield.”

Crowley wiggled until he escaped Aziraphale’s grip and was back on the bed. _Well let’s get you dressed, angel. You can’t go saving people in day-old clothing, even if it is extremely out of fashion._

Aziraphale smiled before puttering off to his closet. “Crowley my dear, what would you even know about fashion? You don’t wear clothing.”

_If I had a body that supported clothes, I wouldn’t be dressing like someone from the Victorian era. _

“I think I could get a bowtie around your neck if you’d want.”

_Don’t you dare!_

.....

Newt had been pacing back and forward by the gate to Jasmine cottage for almost half an hour. Every time he felt brave enough to open the gate something subconsciously redirected him away. He may not know this, but wards work a lot better against people who don’t recognize one in action.

He was absolutely sure that this _was_ Anathema’s house, he had asked the pub owner and Mary had gladly told him all about the splashes the American woman had made when she first moved to Tadfield. He had some questions for Anathema. None of them about nipples, but he _was_ willing to ask if she knew anything about the disturbed patch of earth behind the no longer existent church. She seemed to be fairly observant, and maybe she had seen something that could help him solve the mystery of witches in Tadfield.

Now if only he could open the front gate.

Newt was gearing up to make another pass when a group of children turned the corner onto the street and started walking towards him. Newt panicked and immediately turned around. He really wasn’t cut out to be a subtle investigator, because no matter how hard he tried to avoid being seen as suspicious the group of kids stopped next to him. He heard a sniffling sound and looked down to spot a small black and white dog sniffing his shoes before it startled him with a yip.

“What are you doing outside Ms. Device’s house?” asked one of the children.

“I, um, I was just –”

“Did you want to talk with her?” Asked the only girl in the group.

“Uh, yes. I mean –” Newt was saved from his fumbling with words.

“So why are you waiting outside?” The boy who asked bent down and called the dog over. Newt got the distinct feeling he was the leader of the group.

“I thought the gate was warded,” One of the children stage whispered to the leader.

“It is,” he whispered back.

“We can go get her if you’d like,” said the first boy.

“No no no, That won’t be necessary –”

“Too late!” said the leader of the group gleefully as he bounded over to the gate, flipped the latch and ran up to the front door.

“Anathema! There’s a man out here looking for you,” he shouted while knocking on the door.

Moments later the door opened and the woman in question stuck her head out.

“Who is it Adam – oh it’s you,” she said, looking Newt over as she approached the group clustered by her gate, Adam and his dog following her.

“Well, Newt, what can I do for you?” Anathema leaned on the fence next to the gate.

With the unexpected audience Newt felt completely out of his depth. “I uh, I had some questions I wanted to ask you.”

“Alright Newton… what’s your last name?”

“Oh, Pulsifer. Newton Pulsifer.” Belatedly, Newt wondered if giving his full name to a potential witch was a bad idea.

“Well Newton Pulsifer, I, Anathema Device do so give you my permission to enter my home,” Anathema said while gripping the fence and gate separating them.

Newt felt like an unknown tension just released itself. Anathema turned to the group of children. “Would you lot like to stay? I have some fresh lavender lemonade if you’re interested.”

Adam shook his head. “No thank you, I think we should leave you two alone for now.”

“If you’re sure. I’ll see you all later,” she said waving them off.

The little girl turned around at the last second to lean in and speak. “I think you can do a lot better than him, Anathema,” she said, wrinkling her nose in Newt’s direction before running off after her friends.

“Ha, kids,” Newt said awkwardly.

“Well? If you’re going to come in, you might as well have some lemonade.” Anathema gestured for him to follow.

Uncertainly, Newt followed her, trying not to feel like Hansel and Gretel being tricked into a candy house by a witch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious I imagine Crowley to be from somewhere in the fertile crescent in Mesopotamia around 2300 BCE. Just replace the term priestess from their religious temples to witch.


	15. Chapter 15

As soon as Newt entered Jasmine Cottage a few things jumped out at him. In truth, he almost tripped over them, but he wouldn’t admit that, and Anathema had her back turned so there was no way for her to call him out on it. There were dozens of sheets of paper laying on every conceivable surface, some crumpled, others scribbled out. The nearby kitchen table seemed to be the center of it, with several books laying open and a tablet computer set up among the debris. Out of all the things he imagined a woman’s home to look like, this was not it.

“Sorry about the mess, I’ve been working on a research project and it hasn’t been very fruitful,” Anathema said as she quickly cleared space on the table, brushing loose papers away before heading to the refrigerator. “Lavender Lemonade?”

“Uh sure,” Newt said sinking down into the recently cleared seat.

Anathema pulled out a pitcher and poured two glasses of lemonade before coming back and sitting at the other free chair. “So, you said you had some questions?” She peered at him through her glasses.

Newt frowned at the mess in front of him, distracted from his original purpose. “What were you researching? Something for work?”

Anathema stared at him for a moment, weighing her options in her head. On one hand, Newt had explicitly told her that he was investigating witches, which was always bad news for witches. On the other hand, he seemed relatively harmless, and completely in denial about witches even existing, which is odd for someone hunting witches. On the third hand Anathema first noticed him in town around when the demon first arrived, which might mean he’s actually investigating a demon appearance rather than witches and might have information she could use. On the fourth hand he could also be the demon himself, cleverly disguised and hunting down the people aware of his existence. Eventually she came to a decision.

“It is work in a sense,” she said, carefully considering the best way to approach this, “My ancestress left behind a book of prophecy for her descendants to use in order for us to navigate future troubles. My family has been doing this for years, you could even consider us to be professional descendants. One of the prophecies is coming to pass now, and I need to figure out what a portion of it means in order to prevent any catastrophes from happening.”

Newt blinked at her. “So, your whole family are witches,” he said slowly, as if trying out the words for the first time.

“I prefer the term occultist. But yes, my whole family consists of witches.”

“But magic isn’t real. Is it?” He pleaded.

“Of course it’s real,” Anathema said with a small smile, “Occultists, witches, whatever you prefer to call us, we all have magical talent to some extent. My Great-great-great-great-great-grandmother just happened to have the gift of true sight.

Newt banged his head on the table, sending a piece of paper tumbling off. “And your great great whatever grandmother left you prophecies? Are you sure that they’re actually going to come true?”

“Agnes has never been wrong before.” Anathema wasn’t able to hide the pride in her voice.

“Really,” Newt said flatly, “I’m sorry if I’m being a bit of a skeptic here, but I think I’ll need some proof.”

Anathema smiled, “I would have been seriously questioning your sanity if you believed me right away. The magical community tries to avoid detection for a reason. If you don’t believe me then look here,” Anathema pulled one of the books on the table towards herself and flipped through it before turning it to face Newt and pointing at a specific line in the book and read it out loud, “_In December 1980 an Apple will arise no man can eat. Invest thy money in Master Jobbes's machine and good fortune will tend thy days._”

“1980? That’s when Apple when public, was it not?” Newt knew all about the company’s history. It was close to his own heart.

“Exactly. Agnes warned us, so my family invested in the stocks, and we made tons of money off of it.”

Newt sat back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure if he believed in all the things Sergeant Shadwell had told him about magic and witches in general, but this was good evidence to support that he wasn’t quite as crazy as Newt had originally suspected.

“Okay, so let’s say I believe that this Agnes of yours wrote prophecies that came true. What’s the one that’s happening now say?”

“Here,” Anathema said while flipping to a new page in the book, “‘_God’s house shalle dowen, and angel blud shalle spring forth to cause harme. Innosent will be accused, and one shalle fall_.’”

Newt mouthed the words for a moment. “The church that fell down in that freak earthquake. Is that what the prophecy is referencing?”

Anathema nodded, “That’s what clued me in to look at this particular one.”

Newt thought back to his initial investigations. “Did the thing behind the church cause it to fall?”

“What thing – oh you mean the ritual site? You saw that?” Anathema had hoped that she had made it inconspicuous enough that most people would pass it by.

“Yeah, it is kind of what I was asked to investigate when I first came to Tadfield.”

“Then no. Well, not directly. That thing was the remains of the summoning ritual for a demon. I believe that the demon escaped, and it is likely what caused the church to fall down,” said Anathema, drawing little arrows in the air as she connected her theory with the facts, “Without a nearby source of holy grounds it would be harder to find things to hurt the demon.”

“Huh. Demons are real,” said Newt numbly.

“If it’s easier for you, you can think of them more like spirits of destruction that have a hard time interacting with this world directly and need to be summoned before they can cause any real harm.” Anathema was taking pity on the poor man. He was looking fairly overwhelmed.

Newt tried to clear the image of tiny ghostlike gremlins running around and causing suffering and looked back down at the written prophecy to refocus on the matter at hand. “Is angel blood some type of volatile,” he struggled to find the word, “potion ingredient that can hurt demons?”

Anathema sighed. “I’m not really sure what that part of the prophecy is referring to. That’s what I’ve been researching, since none of my old reference books even mention angels bleeding. I don’t even know if it is a substance we are looking out for or something else entirely.”

“I guess angels are real too? Like biblical angels? Like,” he made a flapping motion with his arms, “and the,” he held his hands in a circle above his head.

“Kind of, but not exactly like that. And not exactly like biblical angels. They start out as normal humans. Well, normal witches for the most part.”

“Oh,” said Newt, slightly disappointed, “Are they kind of like saints? Starting out human? With potential family members left behind. You know, their blood?”

Anathema gawped at him. Newt was worried he said something so stupid that she was about to do some sort of witchy mind wipe and kick him out.

“I’m such an idiot. Angel’s blood! Descendants of angels! Oh, I’m pretty sure there are people out their claiming to be the children of angels who go around hunting demons, in fact, I think my mother told me about them!” Anathema pulled the tablet towards herself and furiously started tapping into a search bar. She huffed, scrolling through the links that popped up, “Why haven’t more witches switched to putting their information online yet?”

Newt tried to make out the descriptions, which was made more difficult because they were all upside down from his perspective. Anathema rephrased her search query and refreshed the page, and both hunched over the tablet to see what came up.

“Wait, go back,” Newt thought he spotted something promising. Before he could stop himself, he reached out to touch the screen. A second later the tablet fizzled, shocking both of them as a cloud of black smoke rose from the dead screen.

“Oh my god I am so sorry!”

“What the hell was that?” Anathema waved the scent of scorched electronics from in front of her face.

Newt coughed. “I thought that since it wasn’t a real computer it would be safe.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Technology doesn’t really like me,” said Newt forlornly.

“I thought you were a computer engineer?”

“Well, ah, that is, I’d like to be a computer engineer. I’d be very good at it, I know a lot about computers. It’s just that every computer I touch tends to ah, end up a lot worse for wear.” He nudged the still smoking carcass of Anathema’s tablet.

“That’s putting it mildly,” said Anathema frowning.

“I’m really sorry about that.” And he was. Their conversation had been going much better than the last time, even if it was a bit lifechanging and he wasn’t familiar with everything they were discussing. It wasn’t often he got to talk normally with a pretty girl. But now he had gone and mucked things up.

Anathema turned her frown towards Newt. “This isn’t normal.”

“It is for me,” he said dejectedly.

“No, I mean that it shouldn’t be happening at all if things were normal.”

“Well I definitely wish it didn’t happen.”

“Aziraphale told me you were cursed,” Anathema muttered.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Aziraphale! He warned me that you were cursed!” Anathema said while gesticulating wildly. 

“That weird bookshop owner? With the snake?”

“Yes! Well, the bookshop owner and snake part, he’s not weird.”

“If you’re sure about that,” Newt muttered under his breath before continuing, “What do you mean by cursed? Like someone cast a spell on me to prevent me from using computers?”

“Maybe,” she paused in thought, “I could try and see what it really is about. If you trust me, that is. I’m not gonna cast any spells on you without you agreeing to it.”

Newt closed his eyes. Everything was going just a little too fast for him. Was he really going to let a strange woman, a witch he barely knew, cast an actual honest to god spell on him?

Apparently so, because when he opened his eyes his mouth betrayed him and said, “Do it. Please.”

“Alright, just sit there. Don’t move too much. It shouldn’t hurt,” she said to reassure him the moment his alarmed expression popped up. She held her hands to her mouth and whispered a word of revelation that Newt couldn’t understand. Pulling her hands away a gentle mist floated down to hover around Newt. Almost immediately glowing red lines appeared forming geometric patterns across his exposed skin on his arms, neck, and face. Anathema let out a gasp as Newt stared in awe.

“What is this? What does this mean?” Newt said while trying to brush the pattern off his arms.

Anathema traced one of the lines on his neck. “This is the framework for the curse. It’s very powerful. It might even be demonic in nature. You must have really pissed a witch off at some point.”

“But I’ve never met a witch before! Can you break it?”

“I’m not sure how,” she said honestly. Newt’s face fell. Anathema found herself speaking to reassure him, “But as soon as I’m done facing the danger from the prophecy, I promise I’ll help you find a way to break it.

Newt felt the fluttering of hope in his belly. “Then I’ll just have to help you until then.”

.....

Crowley perked his head up from where he was resting on Aziraphale’s shoulders as the witch ate breakfast.

“What is it my dear?”

_I just felt something odd. It felt like a little burst of demonic magic, but as far as I know I’m the only demon in the area._

Aziraphale paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “What does that mean?”

Crowley shifted to look up at him. _I don’t know. But if I can feel it, someone else is bound to as well._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt's curse isn't really his curse, nor is it his fault he has it. It is in fact one of his ancestor's fault. One Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer is solely responsible. He pissed off a witch by executing her mother, and said witch summoned a demon and asked them to put a curse on the Pulsifer men so that they could not do what they loved most. The demon was more than happy to comply, and the very next day Adultery died while trying to execute another witch, one by the name of Agnes Nutter. From then on the curse was passed down through the Pulsifer family line, where today it rears its ugly head, preventing Newt from ever becoming a computer engineer.


	16. Chapter 16

“Let’s take into account what we currently have to our advantage,” Aziraphale was pacing around his workshop while Crowley watched his animated movements with interest, “We are one decently skilled witch and a demon snake.”

_A demon snake bound to this body. I’m not particularly capable of much demon-y activity right now_.

Aziraphale turned to face him, “Well, you did summon hellfire earlier. Can you not recreate a similar blaze should the situation call for it?”

_Maybe, but I’m sort of running out of juice for demonic miracles._

“But you’re a _demon._ Aren’t you a well of demonic power?”

_Normally, yes,_ Crowley said sourly, _But I’m a bound demon. I didn’t choose to be in this shape, someone forced me into it. I wouldn’t be here if I was still able to access the majority of my power when they first bound me. This type of binding is designed to make sure I regenerate my power too slowly to just turn around and obliterate the binder. _

Aziraphale brought his hands up to his mouth. “Will you be able to use any of your magic?”

_Maybe a little,_ Crowley conceded, making his best attempt at a shrug despite the fact that he currently lacked and shoulders, _It’s been recovering since you started taking care of me, and I got a little bit of a boost not too long ago, but I won’t be able to do anything too impressive._

“Well that’s a bit disheartening,” Aziraphale said while rubbing the bridge of his nose.

_Did you hope I’d be able to, what, snap and fix all our problems?_ Crowley wiggled his body, hoping to draw attention to his lack of any limbs.

“Well, maybe not snap, but…” he trailed off.

_I’m still an incredibly venomous snake. If you need me to bite someone, I’ll do it._ Crowley didn’t mention that he had never intentionally killed anyone. It might ruin his image of terrifying demon, although considering the way Aziraphale cuddled with him last night that ship might have already sailed.

“I’d rather not have to kill my siblings if at all possible. We did grow up together, after all.”

_If you insist. _

“So, back to the matter at hand. We have one decently skilled witch and a snake with demonic tendencies, against four witches who have been trained from birth to destroy anything perceived to be slightly demonic.” Aziraphale returned to pacing. Crowley watched thoughtfully.

_What about your friend Anathema? She seems like a relatively capable witch. And she’s the one who brought this to your attention in the first place_. Crowley wasn’t afraid to admit he’d rather have all the help they could get against professional demon hunters.

Aziraphale fidgeted. “Well, yes, I can always count on Anathema to help. It’s just that I don’t want to lie to her about you, or for her to get hurt. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

And wasn’t that the problem. Known familiar or not, Crowley was still a demon. Categorically and respectably feared by most sane witches. Anathema might decide that Crowley was as much of a threat as Aziraphale’s old coven members. With a serpentine sigh he continued. _She confided in you to help her. The least you can do is show her the same courtesy. That way we can warn her so she can avoid interacting with your old siblings._

“You’re right, my dear. She deserves that much at least. Alright. We can go talk to her in a bit. There’s still the issue of coming up with a plan to get rid of Gabriel and the others.”

Aziraphale continued to pace. “There must be some way we can drive them out for good,” he muttered under his breath. A thought came to Crowley as he watched his witch pivot sharply past a shelf of ancient books.

_What if we exorcise me?_

“Crowley!” Aziraphale wheeled around to look his familiar in the eye. “I thought we agreed that was unreasonable!”

_I don’t mean we actually exorcise me, but we set up a convincing fake exorcism. Make it look good, with bodily remains and everything. _

“I hope when you insinuate bodily remains you don’t expect me to kill something to leave a body behind,” Aziraphale shuttered, “That falls under my desire for no one to die.”

_We want it to be realistic enough to convince demon hunters, right? Exorcisms are messy. The demon’s host body gets left behind._ Crowley gave a sinuous roll down the length of his body as he moved closer to his witch, who in turn came over to lean against the desk next to him. _It doesn’t even have to be a real person. I could even use the last of my reserves to alter something to look like a body. That way it will even reek of demonic energies, be even more convincing if they know to check for such things. _

Aziraphale mulled it over for a minute. “That might just work. If we can convince them that I managed to exorcise the demon terrorizing the town, not that you’re terrorizing anything other than my garden my dear, then we might just be able to convince them that I can handle any other demonic problems that might have arisen since the demon was first summoned. They won’t have a reason to stay, so they will leave, and no one has to get hurt!”

Crowley lifted himself up and nosed his way along Aziraphale’s jaw and around his neck. _You still have that exorcism written down somewhere? The _Daemonium Compendium_ has a legitimate ritual in it. Together I bet we could alter it just slightly it should still look like the real deal, and we can avoid any of the dangers of having an incomplete circle left lying around for any fool to wander into and get destroyed._

“I – yes,” Aziraphale shuffled through some of the papers on his desk, “That’s odd, I thought I wrote down a copy for that customer we had in the other day who left it behind. I must have already disposed of it.”

_Ngh,_ said Crowley, unwilling to go into detail about his demonic boss at the moment.

“Oh well, I still have the _Compendium_ right here,” said Aziraphale as he went to one of his bookshelves and gingerly pulled out an evil smelling book bound in dark, hopefully cow leather. Crowley eyed it warily. Not only did it have exorcisms written in it, but the _Daemonium Compendium_ had his true name, and many other demon’s as well in it. Copies of this particular book had been a problem for hell back in the day due to the number of witches attempting summons from it.

_Why on earth do you have such a dangerous book?_

“I couldn’t leave it behind when I left to coven. I was afraid that someone would try and steal it from them, honestly their library had no security. At least all my books are heavily warded against thieves and humidity.” Carefully tucking the book into his coat, he pulled Crowley into a more comfortable position along his shoulders. “Off to Anathema’s, then on to rid this town of my siblings.”

As they left the front door of the bookshop Crowley shivered as another wave of demonic energy rippled from somewhere nearby. He sincerely hoped that there was a reasonable explanation for it, and that it wasn’t that Beelzebub had come back to town. While he had no doubt that his boss would love to handle a group of demon hunters themselves, they were likely to take out the entire town as collateral without a blink of an eye.

.....

“Sorry,” said Newt sheepishly. Anathema sighed and put down her new brick of a smartphone.

“Well at least we got the family name of the descendants of angels we need to be looking out for. The Grace’s.” She quickly wrote down all the information she had gotten before her phone’s untimely death.

“That’s a bit pretentious, don’t you think?”

“Probably why they chose it.” Anathema waved her hand at Newt’s confused look. “They’re likely a coven and not a single family of witches. And since they’re here in England there’s a good chance that they might be showing up any minute now. After all, the church fell down almost three days ago.” Anathema turned to face him and then deflated.

“What’s wrong?”

“I, I need to tell you something, but I feel bad because it’s not my secret to tell. But if you’re going to continue helping you deserve to know.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re going to erase my memories about this when we’re done, right?” Newt asked nervously.

Anathema smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry, that’s not possible. The best I could do is curse you to prevent you from being able to talk about it, and I’m not that cruel.”

“That’s comforting,” Newt said dully.

“No, what you need to know is that the bookshop owner, Aziraphale, is a witch too, and he’s also helping circumvent the prophecy.”

“I knew it!” Newt shot up out of his chair, hands smacking the table, “There _was_ something off with him! And don’t even get me started on that snake.”

Anathema laughed, “Oh honestly, Crowley is his familiar and as such is intelligent enough to know better than to try and attack anyone. Probably. Well maybe if they pissed Aziraphale off enough...,” she trailed off.

“So does that mean we need to go and talk with him and his snake? And they’re going to help us?” Newt wasn’t sure about how he felt knowing that he might have to face the giant snake anytime soon. The creature set off his fight or flight instinct, and that was mostly leaning towards flight.

Anathema nodded and started gathering up her notes, putting her books away. Newt watched curiously as the prophecy book was tucked into a container that Anathema whispered incomprehensible words over. She turned to look at him. “If we hurry, we can get to the bookshop in less than ten minutes. Then we can come up with a better plan to tackle these angel wannabes.” Startling she stood up straight. “What the –” she muttered before starting across the room towards the front door. Before she even made it halfway the room started to vibrate.

“Not again,” Newt yelped throwing his hands above his head.

Anathema looked at him, alarm evident in her eyes. “This isn’t an earthquake! Someone is breaking my protection wards!”

Newt ducked as loose papers and random clutter started spinning around the room. Anathema’s dead phone clipped his ear as it whizzed past. “Fat lot of protection they’re doing!”

“I’m sorry,” she shouted, hauling Newt underneath her kitchen table, “I’m testing out a new one! I didn’t know it would react this badly when being broken, no one has used it since ancient Greece!”

Newt found himself kneeling, pressed tightly against Anathema, who was wincing at every sound of her kitchen being trashed. They shared a glance with each other that lasted barely a second before what sounded like a sledgehammer slammed into the front door and the whole frame came crashing down. Dust choked the air as debris rained down around the room.

Indicating for Anathema to stay put, Newt cautiously stuck his head out from under the table. There was a man standing in the remains of the front entrance to the cottage, and the blurry outlines of at least two other people behind him. The man looked around disdainfully, not having spotted Newt yet.

“Are you sure this is the right place? It doesn’t seem quite right.”

“I’m sure. The spell detected demonic energy from this house,” said a feminine voice from behind him.

The man took a further step into the cottage and finally spotted Newt where he was crouched. “Ah, there you are.”

Newt had enough time to think that his eyes were incredibly violet and his smile incredibly insincere before the man said something and a bright light bloomed from his outstretched hand. Newt’s vision went fuzzy, and he faintly heard someone say “Now, where’s your witch?” before he lost consciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd estimate we have two or three more chapters left. Hang tight.


	17. Chapter 17

Anathema refused to go down quietly. This was her home, and she was not about to let some invaders waltz in and do whatever they wanted. From her position under the kitchen table she could see the legs of the man who had knocked Newt unconscious and several others coming in behind him, blocking the front door. She put a quiet hand on the floor of the cottage and cursed internally when she couldn’t detect the remains of the house wards. They must have completely destroyed them. Perhaps the barrier wards built into the property lines were still intact. If she could just make it outside, she could possibly reactivate the protection wards built into the fence. That should buy her more time, and maybe even trap the group of invaders inside Jasmine cottage for a short while.

A second pair of legs joined the first in the doorway, blocking it completely. Anathema would have to use the side door. Bracing her hands on the underside of the table Anathema whispered word of strength. Magical energy flooded her limbs with tendrils of light, and she stood up, launching the table towards the entryway and startling the man and woman standing there. As they jumped back Anathema easily pulled Newt into a fireman’s carry and started running for the side exit before her spell of strength could wear off.

“Stop her!” a voice called out as Anathema turned the corner into a tiny hallway. The side door loomed in front of her and without hesitation she put a fortified kick next to the handle. The door gave way easily.

Standing just beyond where the door swung open was a dark-skinned woman, dressed similarly to the other witches at the front of the cottage. Anathema had enough time to notice the similar swirling tendrils of a strength spell before the woman neatly stepped forward and with a tight smile punched her in the stomach.

Anathema’s breath was knocked out of her as she tumbled backwards, and a second later her strength spell snapped, and Newt’s full weight came falling down on top of her.

Moaning and with her ears ringing, Anathema sat up only to see that the other witches had joined the one who just punched her. The woman was straightening her white suit and brushing dust off her sleeves.

“Well done Uriel,” said the man who had taken Newt out.

Desperate, Anathema slurred a word of protection and a glittering dome of magic fell around her and Newt. “What do you want from us?” she cried out.

“Only to right your wrongs, you foolish girl,” said the other woman in the group, approaching, her image slightly distorted through the barrier, “Summoning a demon? What were you thinking?”

“Summoning a de – what are you talking about? I didn’t summon a demon!” Anathema started pouring more power into her shield.

The leading man reached forward and jerked his hand back when it came into contact with the shield. “Look, girlie, you can make this easier by giving the demon up and repenting, or he will drag you down with him.”

Anathema looked down at defenseless, innocent Newt. With a renewed fire in her eyes she stood up, arms outstretched to retain the barrier dome. “You have the wrong person,” she grit out.

The man scrunched his face up like he just smelt something unpleasant, “I don’t think so. And if you’re not willing to do this the easy way then we’ll just have to do it the hard way.”

Simultaneously, four arms lifted up and a word of power was spoken. The shield shattered, and Anathema was hit with a backlash of her own power. She fainted, falling bonelessly next to Newt.

.....

The sky was a dreary grey when the witch and familiar set off from the bookshop. Aziraphale walked briskly across town towards Jasmine cottage, Crowley wound tightly around his waist with his head poking out the top of his witch’s coat. Aziraphale kept glancing around surreptitiously, worried that his siblings might show up at any second and target his familiar.

_It will be alright, angel,_ Crowley tried to reassure him as the man’s nervous energy was putting the demon on edge too.

“I just can’t help but fear something is going to go wrong, my dear,” he said while rubbing the underside of Crowley’s jaw to soothe his frayed nerves.

_Don’t say that! _Crowley said harshly. He really didn’t need the worrying witch to jinx the already tenuous situation.

But as soon as they approached the outside of Jasmine cottage their fears were proven valid.

“What on earth …?” Aziraphale trailed off as he started to run towards the cottage. The gate was swinging open, holding on by a single hinge, and the white fencing was covered in charcoaled burns that Aziraphale recognized as destroyed wards. “Anathema!” He shouted as he hustled up the path to the blown out front door.

“Anathema! Where are you?” Aziraphale carefully stepped over the kitchen table which was lying on top of the broken doorframe. Anathema’s kitchen looked like a tornado had gone though it. Crowley wriggled himself free of Aziraphale’s coat and onto the ground for a closer inspection.

“Anathema!” Aziraphale called out again, beginning to wonder if she was even there, or worse, unable to answer. He quickly ran through the ground floor of the building, seeing the open side door. He ran upstairs to the bedroom to find it mostly undisturbed before returning to the trashed kitchen. Looking around he spotted his familiar. Crowley was insistently scenting some rubble, his tongue repeatedly flicking out. Aziraphale bent down to be next to his familiar. “Can you smell anything? Can you tell what happened?”

_I’m not a bloody bloodhound!_ Crowley groused, before moving on to what looked like the remains of one of those fancy touchscreen computers and quickly recoiled from it. _This has traces of demonic energy all over it._

“What? How is that possible?”

_I have no idea, I’m just saying it like it is_. Crowley surged forward to another object, one that Aziraphale belatedly realized was Anathema’s cellular phone. _This one too. This must have been the source of the demonic energy I was sensing earlier._

“There isn’t another demon roaming around here, is there?” Aziraphale said, turning to take in all the surrounding damage. It looked fairly bad.

_I doubt it. The scent isn’t strong enough for that to be the case. More likely someone was channeling demonic energy, which is still discouraging. They might still be a threat._ Crowley moved on to scent something else.

Crowley and Aziraphale both turned around when the sound of voices shouting outside caught their attention.

“Anathema! Hello? Is Anyone there?”

Moments later Tadfield’s youngest group of witches piled into the doorway. Two tiny paws propped the head of a small dog over the fallen table

“Mr. Fell?” asked a confused Adam Young, “What are you doing here? Where’s Anathema?”

“Did you kids see anything?” Aziraphale looked between the members of the Them, “Do you know what happened?”

“No, we weren’t here when this happened! It was all normal just over an hour ago!” said a wide-eyed Brian.

“There was someone here earlier, they wanted to talk to Anathema,” Pepper added.

“Who? Was it a group of people?”

“No, it was just one man. Kinda dorky looking, with glasses. The stranger with the weird car,” Pepper continued.

Crowley met Aziraphale’s gaze. _That kid who asked if you were a witch the other day. What’s his name?_

“Newt? But what’s he got to do with all this?” Aziraphale questioned.

Crowley’s tail thumped down loudly, drawing everyone’s attention to him. Dog let out a muffled bark. _Remember I told you he was cursed? It must have demonic origins._

“And if Michael and the others could track that –” Aziraphale bit his lip.

_Then they would have come after them. Just like her prophecy predicted. Innocent will be accused! _The them stared at the pair in confusion. Mr. Fell’s one-sided conversation was hard to follow.

“We have to find them, soon.” Aziraphale held his hand down and Crowley quickly slithered up it, gathering himself around his shoulders.

“We want to help! Anathema is our friend too!” Adam piped up.

“Actually, we know what the man who last saw her looked like,” Wensleydale said, “We can help find him!”

_Absolutely not! This situation is getting out of hand. They’ll only be in danger. _Crowley hissed in Aziraphale’s ear.

“Please Mr. Fell, we want to be useful,” Brian begged.

Aziraphale looked between the pleading children and at his familiar. Crowley was shaking his head.

_Angel, please. Don’t let them get involved. Don’t let them get hurt._

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I can’t, in good faith, let you lot go after her.”

“But why –”

“It’s too dangerous,” Aziraphale interrupted, “Not just for you, but for the rest of the town. I need you to go home and put up all your magical defenses.”

“But Anathema’s house was well warded. Whoever attacked her broke through,” Pepper pointed out.

“That’s because, if my suspicions are correct, the people who attacked her are members of a coven. Working as a group it would be possible for them to break a single person’s wards with very few problems. But if you lot work together you can stop this group from breaking through anymore warded houses, understand?” Aziraphale was trying to be patient, but the Them were being very persistent.

Adam considered Aziraphale. “What you’re saying is you want us to protect the village, right?”

“And stay safe,” Aziraphale said with a nod, “You lot are too young to have learned any spells that might be useful for combative magic.”

“Well actually, I do know a fireball spell,” Wensleydale said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“You almost set fire to the woods last time you used it,” said Brian.

“I’ve been practicing!”

“How about you save it for if they attack you first, yes? Go home and protect your families.” Aziraphale said firmly.

“I don’t like this Mr. Fell,” Adam whispered, petting Dog’s ears for comfort.

“And I don’t like the thought of what that coven might do to you. Please, be safe, and if you see a group of four strangers, two men and two women, run.”

The Them looked at each other and nodded. “Good luck, Mr. Fell,” Adam said as the group turned around.

As they were leaving Pepper turned back and put a hand to her mouth, “Kick their asses for me!”

Witch and familiar watched their retreating backs as they headed back to the street and towards Brian’s house, before looking each other in the eye, slitted yellow meeting sky blue.

_What do we do now? _

“We start searching. They can’t have gone too far,” Aziraphale said while making his way towards the front entryway.

Crowley had a sudden thought. _Angel, bring out the _Compendium_._

“Why?” asked Aziraphale as he pulled the book out of his coat.

Crowley nosed at the cover before huffing. _Turn it to the exorcism page, please._ Aziraphale gently flipped through the delicate pages. Crowley scrutinized the Latin, looking for something specific. _There! ‘Exorcisms are best performed at the location the demon entered the earthly plane’. If they thought Newt was the demon – _

“Then they might have dragged them to where you were first summoned! Oh Crowley, you’re brilliant!”

_That’s where we will start then. Back where everything started._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the day Anathema is only a single witch. Witches with familiars or those in a coven simply have a magical advantage when it comes to a straight up fight.


	18. Chapter 18

The sky was the unnatural dark of an approaching storm by the time Aziraphale and Crowley reached the edge of town. The remains of the church squatted next to the old graveyard, cordoned off by yellow tape, but otherwise unguarded. Aziraphale rushed past it and ducked behind a headstone in the graveyard, glancing over it towards the back wall and the woods beyond it.

“I don’t see anything yet, my dear,” he whispered breathlessly to the serpent around his neck.

_If they got it right it will be on the other side of the wall, close to the edge of the woods,_ Crowley craned his head back and forward, looking for any signs of movement.

Glancing around, Aziraphale ran in an awkward crouch to the back wall, arm across Crowley’s body to keep him in place. Huffing a little, he said “Crowley, my dear, can you see anything?” before hoisting the serpent so his head just barely peaked over the barrier.

Crowley wrapped his tail tightly around his witch’s arm and peered around, his eyes tracking motion. _They’re here, _he softly hissed.

In the space between the wall and the woods in a patch of recently disturbed ground stood three of the witches. Michael and Sandalphon were kneeling on the ground, meticulously drawing out new, complicated ritual lines. Crowley’s stomach-like organ clenched. That was a proper exorcism ritual being built out there, the kind that could lock a demon down in hell for a long time. Worst of all, it was almost complete. Gabriel stood next to the two working on the ritual, looking over some loose sheets of paper and occasionally saying something that might have been instructions; he kept bending over and pointing between the page in his hand and the ritual line work being formed.

It took him a moment to spot the fourth witch. Uriel was standing off to the side, near the rubble of the fallen church, with her back turned to her siblings. Beyond her, tied to one of the upturned beams from the roof of the church were two struggling figures. Anathema and Newt, mouths gagged, and arms tied back. The material binding them let off a slight glimmer of magic, only just detectable to his snake eyes. As Crowley watched, Anathema struggled to kick at her captor before Uriel let out a laugh and conjured some more rope to bind their legs.

_It’s not looking good,_ Crowley said before relaying back everything he saw to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale bit his lip, “Is it the same exorcism from the_ Daemonium Compendium_?”

_I believe so_, said Crowley before retreating back down Aziraphale’s arm to his shoulder. Aziraphale flipped the _Compendium_ to the section on exorcisms. Aziraphale mouthed the words in Latin before turning sharply to look at Crowley.

“That ritual, it will destroy the body?” He asked sharply.

_Shred it like cheese._

Aziraphale blanched. “And send the soul to hell?”

_On a one-way trip. Kinda useless for demons, since our souls are down there already, but it does make it harder to come back in the future._ If Crowley had the face muscles, he would have been frowning.

“I thought exorcisms were meant to save humans from demonic possession, not destroy them!”

_Normally, yes. This one is designed for bound demons, however. Someone trapped like me,_ he flicked his tongue out at that, _We need to prevent your siblings from putting our friends in there at any cost. The consequences wouldn’t be pretty._

Looking disturbed, Aziraphale asked, “Can I disrupt the linework?”

_If you can do it without going in there yourself. It doesn’t take much to activate that one once something is inside, just a word of power. I don’t want you to fall because you accidently fell into an exorcism circle._

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment, then whispered a word of summoning. A now familiar tingle rippled through Crowley’s body as the witch’s magic resonated within him. The same sword from before appeared, albeit this time without the holy fire.

“Alright my dear,” he said, shaking his shoulders loose, “here’s the plan: I’ll go distract Gabriel and the others so you can free Anathema and Newt.”

Crowley stared at him. _How? I don’t have any hands._

Aziraphale gave him a look. “Perhaps it is time to use all that demonic energy you have built up for a miracle.”

_I was saving that for dire situations._

“My dear, this _is_ a dire situation.”

_I meant a dire situation that _you_ are in._

“I will be fine, my dear. I can take care of myself,” he said, twisting his wrist to draw attention to his sword. Crowley eyed it warily before slipping to the ground and turning to face his witch. Aziraphale leaned forward and cupped Crowley’s jaw with his unarmed hand. “I promise,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to Crowley’s head before straightening up and hopping the graveyard wall.

Crowley watched his witch disappear over the wall before moving next to it, quickly slithering along the base of the wall until he hit the rubble from the collapsed church. He started carefully started picking his way over the broken stone, splintered wood, and shattered glass that made up the wreckage, taking longer to move over the destruction. Thankfully, the power Beelzebub poured into destroying the church destroyed the holy energy stored there too, and he was able to move over the once consecrated ground without it burning him.

Somewhere to his side Aziraphale called out to the other witches, drawing their attention.

“Um, hello?”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley recognized Gabriel’s voice and thought it sounded all too gleeful for the current circumstances. “What are you doing here? Did you decide to join us after all?”

The second male’s voice, Sandalphon spoke up. “If you’re tracking the demon, it’s too late. We’ve already apprehended it, along with the witch who summoned it.” The smarmy bastard sounded far too pleased as well.

Moving up an elevated brick, Crowley caught sight of his witch approaching the ritual site, sword still unlit and unraised at his side; a mostly unthreatening stance. While Sandalphon had stopped working on the ritual linework and was standing next to Gabriel as they faced his witch, Michael was still moving along. It looked nearly done. Moving faster, Crowley concentrated on Newt and Anathema’s bound forms, and the remaining witch guarding them. Uriel had her back to them and was watching the proceedings with mild interest.

“Where on earth did you get this ritual from?” Aziraphale feinted disbelief, “It’s practically archaic!”

“We might have found and liberated a copy of the instructions from your bookshop,” Gabriel said, and Crowley could swear he heard him grinning, “It was ever so kind of you to have it waiting for us on your front desk, although the guard snake was somewhat uncalled for. Speaking of which, where is it, hmm?”

“Wh-where is what?”

“Your guard snake? The familiar,” Gabriel sneered, “I thought you would keep it close to you, the pesky thing. Or have you finally come to your senses and gotten rid of it?”

“Oh Crowley! He’s around somewhere. Snakes are rather solitary creatures, you know,” Aziraphale evaded, although Crowley could feel the irritation in his voice from someone insulting his familiar.

Crowley reached the two bound figures, who were both staring wide-eyed at Aziraphale. Crowley carefully brushed over Anathema’s foot and she jerked, looking down. Her eyes grew even wider if possible as she took in the snake that was scenting her bindings, trying to see what he would need to do in order to break them. Before he could gather up the energy to miracle it away there was a flash of red light and a shockwave of magic rippled out, causing everyone’s head to turn.

“It is complete,” said Michael, standing up from where she had been placing the last rune into the ritual, “Shall we get on with it then?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Gabriel, “Aziraphale, you’re welcome to stay and watch if you’d like.”

Crowley looked up to see the alarmed look in Anathema’s eyes and followed it to see Uriel beginning to turn back around. He cursed silently and dove under Anathema’s skirts around her ankles and out of sight before the witch could finish turning around. A moment later he heard a spoken word of strength and the world lurched around him. With mounting horror, he realized Uriel was dragging the beam towards the exorcism, witch, human, and snake included.

“Wait!”

“What? Why?” Confusion fell off of Gabriel’s voice.

“I have very good reason to believe that they aren’t demonic!” Crowley could hear Aziraphale shuffling around, coming closer to where Crowley was.

“Of course they are, we detected demonic energy coming off of the male, and the female was defending him. That seems obviously guilty to me,” said Sandalphon.

“That’s because he’s cursed!” Desperation was bleeding into Aziraphale’s voice, “Please, I can vouch for them! They aren’t demonic!”

“And what if they deceived you, Aziraphale?” Michael’s voice was far too calm, “We cannot take the risk. Stand aside, so Uriel can put them in the circle.”

“No.” Crowley’s witch was beautifully stubborn, but Crowley’s heart sank as he realized Aziraphale was about to challenge a coven of powerful and deranged witches.

“So be it.” Michael shouted out a word of summoning and a metallic ringing filled the air, followed by an immediate clashing sound.

Crowley could feel both Anathema and Newt struggling with their bindings, muffled shouts coming from behind their gags as Aziraphale cried out for his siblings to stop. Crowley peeked out and saw the glowing red linework of the exorcism circle coming closer. To his right, Aziraphale was fending off a heavy blow from Michael, who was wielding a two-handed greatsword, while Gabriel and Sandalphon backed away. He needed to do something now; the situation _definitely_ counted as dire.

Pulling on every last ounce of demonic power currently residing in him, Crowley wrapped his tail around the beam and legs of Newt and Anathema. He heard Newt’s muffled yelp before he pushed his demonic power outwards.

His body swelled, growing rapidly in size and length until his head loomed two stories above the surrounding witches, Anathema and Newt wrapped safely in his coils and Uriel being crushed by his girth. The remaining coven members gawped at him. The ground itself trembled as he let out a thunderous hiss.

“What the fuck?” Gabriel shouted eloquently, pulling Sandalphon back as he retreated from Crowley’s new form.

_Angel, quick! Destroy the ritual, I can’t keep this shape for long!_ Crowley hissed out for his witches ears only.

Michael recovered faster than the other two and turned with a furious face as Aziraphale started moving. Aziraphale feinted one way and then quickly dashed past her in the other direction when she lunged with her weapon where he used to be. Shouting a word that made Crowley’s eyes prickle, Aziraphale swung his sword and a line of holy fire shot out from it. The flames connected with the ritual linework and the power buzzing through it broke, the resulting wave of power knocking Aziraphale and the other witches back.

_Yes!_ Crowley cried out, turning his attention to check to see if Anathema and Newt were okay. This turned out to be a mistake.

He heard Aziraphale scream _'Look out!'_ and a moment later a stabbing pain unlike any other burned through him. Michael had driven her sword through his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters left.


	19. Chapter 19

Crowley was falling. Again. All the demonic energy he had built up inside of himself was gone, burnt up. Or maybe that was just his corporation burning. His body was shrinking back down, twitching as it went, and he finally hit the ground in a painful smack, belly facing up. The sword that had pierced him clattering off to one side and a pair of muffled cries came from over where he had dropped Anathema and Newt.

Moments later, or maybe it was hours. Centuries? Crowley knew he wasn’t processing time correctly, demons had never been very good at that. But some time later a soft trembling hand brushed against his side.

“Crowley?” a voice whispered hoarsely. 

Oh. Aziraphale was at his side. And he was upset. It was hard to think, but Crowley wanted to comfort him. His witch should never sound so devastated. He flopped his head towards the warmth that was his witch.

“Crowley, please.”

Something wet dripped into his open eye. It could almost be considered soothing, since the rest of his body is on fire. Hands come up around him and cradle his body in a soft lap.

“That thing is a demon!” That sounded like Sandalphon, what was he still doing here? It was just supposed to be Crowley and his witch.

“Aziraphale, what have you done?” No. Gabriel was still there too. They needed to go away, Crowley was going away, they needed to go –

Hell pulls heavily on Crowley’s consciousness, trying to tug him down. He fights it. He’s not bleeding real blood like a mortal snake would, but his essence is leaking out. His body is burning; smoke is drifting up as his scales flake away.

“Crowley, please don’t.”

Oh. Aziraphale is crying. His whole body is wracked with sobs. Crowley wants to curl around him, save him from his tears, but his body refuses to move anymore. There’s not much of it left, it’s fading into ash.

“Crowley. Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Please, my love. Please,” Aziraphale is almost impossible to hear now, the words are more felt than heard.

Crowley doesn’t want to go. He wants to stay wrapped up in Aziraphale’s arms forever, cherished and cherishing like he wasn’t allowed to be in life. He wants to wake up to Aziraphale’s smiling face and watch him eat all his meals with an almost impossible level of delight. He wants to feed ducks with his witch and get revenge on that evil swan. He wants to hide in Aziraphale’s bookshelves and scare off unwanted customers. He wants to sit on Aziraphale’s shoulders and listen to him read classics in the evening. He wants to terrify the garden plants into submission and see Aziraphale’s secretly happy look when he sees the blooms. He wants to curl up around a cup of tea next to his angel. He wants to _be_ with Aziraphale in a way that is more than just a familiar with their witch.

“Don’t leave me Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers into what is left of his neck, and the bond between witch and familiar tightens.

_I won’t,_ Crowley croaks.

His body is flaking away, burning from the inside until it is completely gone, hell weighing heavily on him. And Crowley doesn’t leave.

.....

Ash covers his coat as his familiar burns. With a final sob the weight in Aziraphale’s lap disappears. The warmth doesn’t. It flows into Aziraphale and settles itself around his soul.

.....

There is a bright light, so pure it hurts to look at. Crowley curls around it, welcoming the strength coming off of it, and encompassing it despite the pain, oh so careful to not brush against it. He opens his eyes.

.....

Aziraphale’s eyes itch, and something with his vision is off. He reaches his hands up to his face and feels along his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, along the speckled scales that have popped up there and are shifting around under his fingertips. His body is burning, but it is an ignorable inconvenience for now. Something moves inside him and his breath catches. Leaning forward, feathers burst into existence all around him, inexplicably erupting from him. The feathers are a pure, blinding white, yet paradoxically they seem to take in the light, leaching the colours from their surroundings and leaving everything in stark shades of grey.

Together, they stand up.

Crowley lifts their arm, and Aziraphale’s blade which he had previously cast aside flies into their hand. With a flick, it ignites in hellfire, the reddish flames the only source of colour left untouched by demonic presence. Their gaze wanders over the scene, passing over where Uriel is struggling to regain consciousness, the broken ritual lines of the exorcism circle, and the terrified expressions of the remaining coven witches. It settles on the man and the woman tied to a wooden beam. They approach the bound forms with a movement that is almost effortless, feathers finally settling into the shape of wings behind their back. Newt and Anathema freeze in their struggling.

“Do not be afraid,” their words ring with an otherworldly echo, an overlap of two voices, one clearly Aziraphale’s, and one clearly not. The other voice takes over for a moment and the echo fades. Their eyes flash almost golden yellow as he says, “I’m not going to hurt you, it would upset my witch terribly so,” and with a snap of their unarmed hand, the bindings fall out of existence. Anathema struggled to her feet, drawing Newt up behind her, hand clasped firmly around his wrist.

She squinted at the being in front of her. “Crowley?” she asked incredulously.

They gave a jaunty wave with their free hand and a wide grin split their face. “Bet your prophetessss didn’t sssee that one coming, did she?” he said, drawing emphasis with his hiss.

Anathema and Newt were rendered speechless, left blinking in the distorted light.

“Demon!” called out a voice from the coven witches, “Release his body or we will be forced to destroy you!”

They turned around. The witches had regrouped and stood together armed with magically summoned blades. Gabriel stood shakily, sword held out in front of himself, pointing to their being.

“You wanted to destroy them!” Their wings flare up, and the echoing was back, the two voices speaking as one, “They were innocent, and you were willing to kill them and condemn their souls to hell!”

“They were corrupted,” whispered Michael, “we could sense it.”

“You’re corrupting Aziraphale even as we speak!” Gabriel’s shaky words belied his more confident stance.

Aziraphale’s voice spoke alone this time, “Crowley wouldn’t hurt me. He’s protecting me. He’s only ever been protecting me.” Their free hand lifted up to clutch at their chest, directly above their heart.

“Get out of our brother!” Uriel snarled as she and Sandalphon lunged forward only to be driven back when they swung Aziraphale’s sword and hellfire flew from the path it made.

Together, they spoke. “I think you’ve outstayed your welcome. What do you think my dear? Oh, absolutely angel. I think it’s time you were gone.”

The witches only had time to look alarmed before they snapped their fingers and the coven was instantaneously gone.

“Thank goodness for that,” they said, turning away from the vanished witches.

“Wh-what did you do to them?” Newt had moved, and although he still looked completely out of his league, he had taken Anathema’s hand and was standing beside her.

“Hmm? Oh, we sent them back to where they came from. No harm done, not that they didn’t deserve some harm,” the voices were slipping in and out of sync as the two seemed to be having an internal discussion.

“But they’ll just come back!” Anathema looked around, “We have to prepare for when they return!”

The beings laughed, one a soft chuckle, and the other more of a bark. “Not to Tadfield they won’t,” and mindful of the space around them, they flung up their arms, sword, wings, and all. Waves of earthly magic and demonic energy flowed out through the town and settled into an invisible barrier around Tadfield. All across the village, witches paused in their actions, shivering as the foreign power surged through them.

Their body collapsed with a cry, flaming sword dropping out of limp fingers. The previously ignored burning was catching up with them.

“Aziraphale!” Anathema called out, running over and dodging fluttering wings.

Newt followed her, crouching next to the somewhat smoking being. “What’s wrong with them?”

They couldn’t hear the witch and witchfinder anymore. A presence and a soul were dancing around each other inside one body, spinning faster and burning stronger. The soul was shining brighter, and the presence was growing darker.

“I can’t. I can’t stay any longer, I’m hurting you angel,” gasps out one voice, and their arms wrapped around themselves, one over their stomach and the other over their sternum.

“Please, my dear, don’t leave. Please,” Aziraphale mumbles back.

Snakes cannot cry, and demons are not supposed to. Humans are more than capable, and tears start to leak from their eyes.

“I’m sorry. I won’t drag you down with me.”

“Crowley –!”

The darkness floods downwards.

.....

Aziraphale opens his eyes, alone in his body. It feels like a chunk of his heart has been torn out. Gasping as he sits up, he finds that his arms are hugging himself tightly. Hesitantly, Aziraphale pulls one hand away and brings it to his cheek, only to find it soaked with tears that aren’t his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is comprehensible. Seriously, it made sense in my head and somehow still was nearly impossible to write down, despite me knowing it was going to end up this way from the very beginning.


	20. Chapter 20

It had been a long time since the day Crowley had been forced to leave Aziraphale. The witch had been left inconsolable, his body sore from housing the demon and his heart missing that which had made it whole. The leftover pain from being possessed had long since gone away, but the throbbing in his heart had merely dulled. Occasionally it would give a noteworthy twinge. Aziraphale liked to think that it was Crowley tugging on the remains of their tattered bond, trying to let him know that he was still there, still thinking of him.

The worst part was that the bond wasn’t even broken, just stretched beyond its means. Familiars were not meant to leave their witches until death took one or the other, or the witch decided they could live with the pain of a severed bond. But Crowley couldn’t be dead. Aziraphale was sure of this, and because of that he refused to break the bond.

The events leading up to what had taken place behind the graveyard had been somewhat difficult for Aziraphale to explain to his friends, but Anathema had been incredibly patient. She had waited as long as she could before questioning him about them. The hardest part for her to follow was that Aziraphale himself had been connected to the coven.

Newt had done his best to understand what was going on and had waited until later to ask Anathema and Aziraphale all of his questions about magic and familiars and demons. It had brought the smallest smile to Aziraphale’s face to see his wonder after discovering the extent of the magical community.

It was partially thanks to them that Aziraphale was doing as well as he was. Anathema had invited Newt to live with her while she tried to break his curse. She ended up asking Aziraphale for help, and the research behind it proved to be a healthy distraction, pulling him out of his mourning. It had taken almost two months to research and come up with a proper ritual to break the curse left on him. That had been almost a year ago. Now, Newt was working as a programmer and had moved in permanently to Jasmine cottage, the witch and the witchfinder a bizarre, but happy couple. Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to envy them.

Now it was a warm midsummer day. Aziraphale’s heart had been twinging a lot recently, and he was currently absentmindedly rubbing at his chest as he minded the front of the shop. He was brought back to the present when the front door of the shop opened. It took a moment for him to recognize that the person who had just entered was not a customer; rather, he was a man in an International Express delivery uniform who was quickly making a beeline to where Aziraphale sat.

“Mr. Aziraphale Grace?”

Aziraphale frowned. No one called him by that last name, but he still sat up and straightened his vest. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“I have some paperwork for you to sign, sir.” The man pulled a thick folder out of his bag and placed it in front of Aziraphale, flipping to the last page and indicating the line where he needed to sign.

Aziraphale perched his reading glasses on his nose and tried to read over what exactly he was presented with and was immediately bewildered when he realized he had no idea what language it was written in. He looked up sharply to the delivery man, “What’s it for?”

“I’m not sure sir. I’m just supposed to get it signed and delivered back to the head office.”

Aziraphale turned back to the page and frowned. He noticed a pair of wings stamped on the corner of the page that he hadn’t seen before.

“If you don’t mind sir, I have other deliveries to make,” he offered Aziraphale a pen.

Hesitantly the witch took it, and signed the paper with a neat, looping signature.

“Much obliged, sir!” said the delivery man before gathering up the folder and heading back out the door. He paused before heading out, “It’s a lovely day today. Good weather to be outside.”

“Quite so,” said Aziraphale absentmindedly, watching the man leave. He sat there for a moment before standing up and flipping the sign on the door to closed. He felt like visiting his garden; perhaps he would sit under the apple tree and read for a bit.

.....

It had been a week since that strange incident and Aziraphale had almost put it out of his mind. The sun had made an appearance today, bringing the warm midsummer day into a pleasant evening as Aziraphale returned from Jasmine cottage, having spent the afternoon drinking tea, and eventually eating dinner, with his friends. Aziraphale had left after listening to Newt try and explain the internet to him for an hour. The first part had been lovely, the second not so much.

The first strange thing that Aziraphale noticed was that there was a black vintage Bentley parked rather poorly in front of the bookshop as he approached. He frowned. The car looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. His heart throbbed, and he could feel the edges of his bond tingling. He backed away from the Bentley before turning around and unlocking the shop door.

There was an odd tension in the air, Aziraphale could feel it in the way his magic buzzed just under his skin. His wards hadn’t been triggered, but something was obviously off. Quickly relocking the door, he moved further into the bookshop. Nothing different popped out immediately, but the feeling didn’t dissipate. He moved on into his workshop, and when nothing was out of place there he walked into the kitchen.

His heart was beating frantically. There was someone there. A man with shoulder length auburn hair and dark clothes, his snakeskin shoes propped up on the kitchen table as he lounged back, a glass of red wine balanced between his fingers. His eyes were obscured by rounded sunglasses, but Aziraphale knew he was being stared at.

The man opened his mouth and spoke in a familiar voice, “You really need to get a couch in here angel, these chairs are terribly uncomfortable.”

“_Crowley?_”

“Who else? Did you think it would be someone else- _oomph!_” The last bit came out as a rush of air as Aziraphale threw himself at the demon, knocking the wineglass aside in his rush to touch the other being’s face. Both of them gasped as something seemingly slotted back into place. Aziraphale slumped to the floor, dragging Crowley with him as he tangled his fingers in the other man’s hair. “Oh,” he said softly.

Aziraphale’s hand wandered to caress a sharp cheekbone and the curling tattoo of a snake before moving up to the edge of the sunglasses, waiting for something. Crowley gave a shaky nod, and Aziraphale pulled the glasses away.

“Oh. Your eyes are the same,” he breathed before scrunching his hand in the hair at the back of his head and pulling the demon close, resting his forehead on the bridge of the taller man’s nose. They held that position for a while, hands wandering over Crowley’s back and sides, mapping out his body while Crowley stroked his spine in turn.

Eventually, Aziraphale moved, only to press a kiss to the corner of Crowley’s eye, pulling away long enough to truly look him over. The expression on the demon’s face was dazed.

“You came back.”

Crowley shook his head, “I’m sorry it took so long. Bureaucracy in hell is a literal nightmare. Had to wait ages to get my appeals heard, and even longer to get a body again. I wanted to be able to take a form of my own choosing, instead of whatever they wanted to stuff me into.”

Aziraphale’s brow crinkled. “What sort of appeals?”

Crowley let out a little snort. “Well, just being your familiar wasn’t good enough for them to let me back out. I had to tell my boss about your coven, and then they had to tell their boss about it, and He decided that it was unacceptable on the other side's part, so He had to call up the opposition, and She and Him got into a huge argument about who was allowed to fight who, and who’s jurisdiction children of angels who acted evilly fell under. It was quite the ordeal.

“Finally, they decided that our side could have free reign putting your coven in its proper place, and I volunteered to come up with the group sent to torment them,” He grinned, thinking of the horrified look on the coven members face's when Beelzebub had flicked aside their wards. The Prince of Hell was having the time of their life tormenting Gabriel and the others. “I ended up borrowing one of their cars and coming here. Did you know they had an entire warehouse full of beautiful vintage cars that had never been driven before? I mean, it needed a paint job first, who would ever want to drive a white Bentley, but still.”

Aziraphale blinked. So that’s where the car had come from. “Well yes, I did live there once. But won’t you be in trouble for coming here?”

“See, that’s the beauty of it! You were a coven member, so I’m officially here to torment you until you fall!” Crowley threw his arms up in a grand gesture, grin plastered to his face.

“My dear, how is that a good thing?”

If possible, the grin grew wider. “It’s good because you can’t!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started hesitantly, “I am still only human. Human souls most certainly can fall.”

“But yours can’t! You signed the paperwork!”

Aziraphale thought back to the odd encounter he had the week before. “I’m sorry? What does that have to do with anything?”

“When we were in, let’s say, negotiations with heaven, I snuck off and found your ancestor. Nice fellow, by the way, you really are of him. Anyways, I told him of you, and he helped me get together the necessary paperwork. Your soul has been blacklisted from hell. You can’t fall. It’s impossible,” he planted his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and gave him a little shake, “Congratulations Aziraphale, you’re the first witch in all of human history to successfully bind a demon to themselves without sacrificing their soul!”

Aziraphale blinked. “Does that mean you’re not leaving me?”

“Never,” the grin suddenly disappeared, and Crowley pulled his hands back to himself, “Unless you want me to.”

“Good heavens, no!”

“Oh, that’s a relief. I was worried the whole human-shaped corporation thing might turn you off.” Crowley looked down as if considering his own legs folded beneath himself. “I could turn back into a snake if you’d prefer. Or anything really. This body is my own to work with.”

“My dear, I don’t care what form you take, so long as it makes you happy.”

Crowley seemed to melt with those words and Aziraphale found himself petting his familiar’s hair in a rather calming motion for a while. Long after his legs had fallen asleep, he pushed himself to his feet.

“Where are you going?” asked Crowley, looking at him confusedly.

“To bed my dear,” said Aziraphale with a soft smile.

“Oh.”

Aziraphale was several steps up the stairs before he turned around to look back at Crowley. “Aren’t you going to join me my dear?”

Crowley shifted awkwardly on the ground. “I thought you might not be comfortable with me like this.”

“My dear, we were already sleeping together before you had to leave me. I though we had gotten you over this,” he said while going back down the stairs and pulling Crowley up with him. Leading him to the bedroom, Aziraphale left for the bathroom to finish his nightly routine. He returned, dressed in tartan pyjamas only to see his familiar standing nervously in black satin trousers and nothing else. He held out his hand and Crowley gladly grabbed it. Turning back the bedsheets he pulled Crowley into laying down next to him. Crowley lay stiffly on his side for a moment, before snapping his fingers and plunging the room into darkness.

“My dear, was that quite – oh!” Something soft had slid into existence, covering Aziraphale with warm feathers as Crowley pulled him to have his back to the demon’s chest.

“Is this too much?” Crowley whispered uncertainly.

“No, my dear. It’s just like when you fell asleep on me in your other form. Completely welcome.”

Crowley hummed before burying his face in the back of Aziraphale’s neck, wrapping his arms around the witch for good measure. “I think I prefer being able to do this more so than when I was a snake.”

Aziraphale tugged one of Crowley’s hands up so he could kiss the knuckles. Crowley froze.

“Do you not like it when I kiss you, my dear?”

“That’sss not it, angel,” Crowley’s hiss was odd to hear issuing out of a mouth rather than words in his head, “I jussst am sssuprisssed that you can feel that way about me. I am ssstill a demon, after all.”

Aziraphale rolled over to loop his arms around Crowley, resting just under where his wings met his back. “My dear, I’ve seen who you are, and I choose to give my love to you,” Crowley’s breath hitches, “familiar or not, demon or not, I’d rather be here beside you than anywhere else in the universe.”

Crowley closed his eyes and moved closer until his lips just barely brush Aziraphale’s nose, “Know that your love is returned,” he whispered, “and that I’d move heaven and hell to stay right here.”

At those words, Aziraphale peppers Crowley’s brow with kisses that Crowley tenderly returns before slotting his lips around Aziraphales. They move ever so slightly between each other, brush after tingling brush filled with some type of ineffable emotion before finally breaking apart.

“Go to sleep angel,” Crowley pants into his cheek, “we have the rest of our lives to enjoy together.”

“Mmmh,” Aziraphale agrees, before letting his eyes drift shut.

.....

In a town as small as Tadfield the townsfolk tend to notice changes. It does not take very long for the people to notice the tall dark stranger who appeared one day in his flashy car. And almost as soon as they notice him, they notice the change that comes over the bookseller. The man who had been previously described as reclusive and had recently been oh so miserable was suddenly joyful. The obvious source of his joy walked around the village with him, often hand in hand. It became all to common of a sight to see the two strolling down by the river, visiting friends at Jasmine cottage or entertaining the town’s youngest group of hooligans, or feeding the ducks at the suspiciously swan-free lake.

The villagers could never figure out where the red-haired stranger came from, but seeing the way the two men acted around each other it became very clear that he was here to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! Thank somebody, it's done!  
A big thank you to everybody who commented, kudo'd, or even just read this fic, it's my first that I've completed and put out there for the world to see.  
It was quite the fun ride, and now I can finally go back and finish my other, neglected fic.
> 
> Let me know what you thought, good, bad, or whatever!


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